


The Lost Artefact

by CsMelody



Category: Bartimaeus - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: F/M, Healing, Hybrids, M/M, OCs because Stroud killed everyone, Probably too long for my health, Rebuilding London, Slow Burn, Very long buckle up, mental health
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:20:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 80,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22898638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CsMelody/pseuds/CsMelody
Summary: Only a month after his and Nathaniel's sacrifice, Bartimaeus finds himself being summoned again by Kitty Jones. She presents him with a fallen London and the promise of change. But first, she needs his help with Nathaniel, who is very much alive.
Relationships: Bartimaeus/Nathaniel (Bartimaeus)
Comments: 119
Kudos: 79





	1. rewrite an ending or two

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, hello!  
> This is my first time publishing on here, so if something appears amiss, that's probably why. Anyway, I keep an account on FFnet under the same penname, and I'm pretty more active there. (But don't get excited, not that active.)  
> The warnings here certainly make it easier, but I'll say it louder for the people in the back: yes, it'll eventually be Bart/Nat. Not your cup of tea? Don't read. Offended by it? Don't read. Homophobic? Maybe you'll be cured.  
> Now's the time when I give my many thanks to my dearest beta, anjumstar, who besides putting up with all my mistakes and idiocy and providing part of the summary for this story ('cause I forgot you need one) virtually also let me annoy her (for real) for an entire week in January. So, obviously I had to let her kick my butt countless times on Super Smash Bros. It was only fair.

_Bartimaeus_

I had been floating about back in the Other Place, blissfully not thinking, and finally at peace for what felt like ten seconds, when that familiar and uncomfortable tug settled in my core. My essence revolved snappily for another moment, hoping the magician on the other side would give up, choose someone else to do their dirty work. I felt the second call, nonetheless, and because there is nothing but pain awaiting after the third, I promptly left the comfort of my home.

I was too tired to come up with a mighty horned creature with crazy eyes and the works, so I opted for an ominous-looking black fog and added the acrid stench of brimstone to go with it (1). A glance at the pentacle underneath revealed surprisingly messy lines on a damaged white, tiled floor. Granted there was no mistake, but it was off-putting (to say the least) to find a poorly drawn pentacle upon being called. It was almost an insult.

(1) Listen, I may be weakened, but I do have a reputation to maintain. I wasn’t about to explode into rainbows and flowers for this magician. I would very much rather inflict the Systemic Vise upon myself.

The unpractised lines looked somewhat familiar, but before I could put my finger on it, a surprised voice gasped. “It _is_ you.”

I turned two golden orbs upwards to find Kitty Jones starring somewhat wide-eyed at my fine self, looking almost the same as when I’d last seen her (2). She was wearing dark jeans, a navy-blue jumper and some apparently tired trainers too. I blinked. I doubted she could see any sort of emotion since I hadn’t bothered with a face. Considering I didn’t know how to react to this summons, it was probably for the best.

(2) Yes, I realise human memory is a tragedy in and of itself. Allow me: thin figure, with prematurely slumped spine and wrinkled skin, dreadfully fashioned dark hair, chopped up to an irregular bob clearly by unexperienced hands, with a few grey strands catching the sunlight coming through the window, tired eyes. Now, don’t get me wrong. Kitty looked better than when I’d last seen her. The wrinkles were fading, and the grey hair was returning to its natural colour, but her appearance was just another indicator that not long ago I had been on Earth trying to save an ungrateful bunch, nearly dying in the process along with my master.

We were inside some sort of ruins. The ceiling had a large hole in the centre, and there were burnt counters, as well as an oven and a fridge in dire need of a holiday, a vase split in half in a corner, dirt bleeding out of it. The railings were all that was left to hint at the presence of curtains, and the walls were peeling off everywhere.

Kitty kept going, though, still wide-eyed, gesticulating excitedly as she spoke. “I thought you might be dead or…or still inside Nath—”

“Wow, that’s some image you’re painting,” I finally said. Really, your first words to someone else should never be: “I thought you were still inside [insert name]”. Oh decency, where have you gone?

Kitty’s face comically exploded with colour, and I almost laughed at her embarrassment. It wasn’t half-bad seeing someone as level-headed as Kitty lose their composure. Then she laughed a bit to relieve the tension—a stiff laugh, nonetheless—and stuffed her hands in her jumper’s pocket.

“Anyway.” A long sigh. “I’m glad to see you well, Bartimaeus.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” I retorted, spiralling around the pentacle as if about to break free. “I’m still quite beat up, thank you very much. Also, I thought we’d talked about this whole pentacle business, the two of us. You know, when you first tried to summon me and some rude words were exchanged,” I added, looking at her accusingly. Not that she could tell.

“Yes, well,” she started, rubbing the back of her neck, “I know it’s been just a few weeks, but I’m kind of desperate here. And I can’t exactly call you without a pentacle, can I? Besides, we really need—”

“You can certainly not call at all. Don’t tell me the English government can’t handle a few loose hybrids. A couple of crashed buildings? Numerous fires? A bunch of casualties? Dear me, I thought I was dealing with the _crème de la crème_ , but I guess I was wrong.”

Kitty seemed to deflate a little as I pointed all of these out, and a part of me felt bad for it. A tiny part (3). She started to move her weight from one foot to the other, almost as if she were weighing her options physically rather than mentally.

(3) Kitty does have a special place in my metaphorical heart, rest assured, but I am still as peeved about being on Earth as I’ll ever be. Besides, Kitty should know by now that she’d be getting this side of me. I’m still recovering.

“Well, this is silly,” she decided, promptly stepping out of the pentacle. It took her a total of two steps before she reached the outer line of my circle. Then she gave me that knowing smirk of hers, hands on her hips and looking daringly up at me for good measure.

No matter how many times this happens—a human giving up their control over us, placing their trust in our hands—I am still caught by surprise. Ptolemy did it all the time, Kitty herself has been to the Other Place, but this was still new to her, and it has certainly been a long time for me. I immediately became Ptolemy to smile up at her. She grinned right back, teeth and all.

“That’s more like it,” she said with a nod.

I agree.

“Alright, we need to get moving. I’ll explain on the way.”

She was grabbing a grey backpack I hadn’t noticed before when I said, “Are you just assuming I’m tagging along?”

Kitty turned back to look at me for a second, after which she said, “Yes.” I sputtered, indignant, but all she did was grin and add, “Aren’t you intrigued in the least?”

I considered her words for a moment. _Was_ I intrigued by what had become of London after such a big fall? Was I intrigued to learn what mess Kitty was in that required my superior skills to solve?

“Yes,” I said at last. “I am very intrigued by your choice of room, at the very least. But I’m even more intrigued to find out what it’s like to rest for another century before an idiotic human summons me again. I need healing, both physically and mentally. A bunch of spirits just tried to ennact a revolution I personally dismantled, so, as you can guess, I’m not exactly popular back home. The least you could do is let me get some rest and maybe, _maybe_ if whatever task you have for me is relevant in fifty years, we’ll talk about it then.”

I didn’t get to go on, and Kitty didn’t get to reply to that, because suddenly the door was being thrown open and there were two men pointing their daggers at Kitty’s back and shouting something I barely made out, which was just plainly rude. Couldn’t they tell we were in the middle of a civilised conversation?

I pushed Kitty out of the way before a dagger hit her in the chest, and we smashed against the counters. Kitty groaned. Before I decided on a spell with low impact, she flung her backpack open and threw a tiny Elemental Sphere right at their feet. The ground exploded with vines that grabbed their legs and arms, a gust of wind forced their weapons down. There were new cracks on the floor, and a small fire starting on the doorway.

And then came the water. The pipes burst right over our heads, sprinkling the four of us with dubious water. I heard the two burglars curse for a moment (4), but I had barely the time to feel annoyed at the strain the water was putting on my essence before I heard a window crash open to reveal another dynamic duo.

(4) Which is, again, so rude. Whatever happened to civilised Britishness?

“You don’t happen to have another one of those handy Spheres on you, do you?”

“Afraid not.”

Kitty and I backed away from the window, as the men were already trying to climb in, and I wouldn’t put my money on those vines to hold out for long. I looked about me. Kitty pointed to the fridge. Clever girl. It was thrown unceremoniously in front of the window, leaving the duo no space to climb in. There was another window in the room, however, so before they regrouped, I changed into a familiar gargoyle. It grabbed Kitty and shot to the skies, breaking right through the ceiling (5).

(5) I didn’t suppose there was a difference since someone else had taken the time to blast a big hole right next to the one I made. At least now barbecue days wouldn’t make the kitchen stink.

When seen from above, London’s destruction didn’t necessarily surprise me. I didn’t suppose it would either way, but being in the air gave it a more detached approach. I wasn’t counting on anything else, however, since Kitty herself had pointed out that it hadn’t been very long since I was last here. But it didn’t seem that the damage had spread too far outside of the city centre. Westminster was ruined, as expected. I could tell that was where we were now that we were up in the air. The fires had been extinguished, but the smoke in the air hadn’t dissipated completely. It came and went in waves as the wind shifted directions and hit my faux-stone nostrils.

“I think I finally understand why people complain about flying with you,” Kitty rasped out.

I knew very well who she meant, but pretended I didn’t. “Would you rather be back in that shoddy kitchen?” I asked in a sickly-sweet voice. The kind which would eventually result in a question about how you like your tea and would you care for a biscuit?

“…No.”

So Kitty was still familiar with sarcasm. Good.

“Thought so.”

She didn’t say anything else, but I felt her grabbing my arm as if it were a lifeline on more than one occasion and I rolled my eyes with gusto, knowing very well she couldn’t see it.

I kept moving northeast, away from the stench of the Thames and humid air around it. So I suppose I was following the line of destruction.

All things considered, London could have suffered a worse fate. Instead, what it got was a bunch of destroyed property and singe marks on numerous walls. Unclaimed, toppled cars were still visible, mirrors shining under the rare visit of the sun and making me squint. Lampposts had taken the brunt of it, having been bent at the oddest angles and tossed around as weapons. There was a particularly elaborate lamppost design stuck in a brown roof in Piccadilly. It sported quite the rude hand gesture that my modesty refrains me from describing.

As I entered Hyde Park, the air shifted. Not from the smoke, or the weather per se. It was charged, and I wondered if magic could still be permeating the air.

I took in the dead foliage down below as I passed the epicentre of the destruction. Upon flying over it, it was as if I had been shocked out of my state. The gargoyle swerved unnaturally to the right, earning a shriek from Kitty and I forced myself to slow down. Since this was just a good a place as any, I began my descent, circling down onto a patch of surviving grass by the Serpentine.

Kitty dusted herself off when I put her down and looked around, squinting and pursing her lips. “Of all the places to go in London, you come back here, huh?”

“Seeing as every house we passed seemed to be either in ruins or on its way, I felt it was safest to resort to nature.”

Kitty gave me a look.

I ignored it.

“And now for your explanation?”

I found a comfortable spot, where the water didn’t touch me and the grass wasn’t dead, and sat down cross-legged in the comfortable guise of Ptolemy. Kitty hesitated, probably considering how humid the grass still was. She eventually followed my lead, dropping her backpack in her lap. It appeared she was struggling with words, so I let her be for a moment.

Kitty had mentioned a few weeks had passed, but that could mean as little as two and as many as six. Regardless, she might still be sorting through her feelings. Perhaps I shouldn’t have brought her to the park, but I’d been distracted, following the path of destruction, searching for an area free of it.

I could easily pinpoint where everything had happened, but I would rather not. It was enough to be sitting down facing the spot where the Glass Palace had been standing ten seconds ago. My eyes were drawn to it like moths to a flame, but no matter how ardently I searched, there was nothing.

Kitty eventually cleared her throat, drawing my attention back to her. She was pulling at the grass, splitting the leaves in two until she was left with just the blade. Then she threw it wherever and resumed her antics.

“It’s been a little crazy, as you can imagine,” she started. Her movements didn’t cease. “There’s a new Interim Council made up of both commoners and magicians. Piper’s basically become the Prime Minister overnight. But there’s also a lot of resentment. A lot of houses were destroyed, so people took to stealing from abandoned houses and even…” She inhaled deeply before continuing. “…and even corpses. It’s… macabre, but a way of surviving, I guess. Problem is some have become rather violent and territorial. There’s even rumours of a rebellious group of sorts.”

I hummed to let her know I was listening. By principle, I wanted nothing to do with this mess, but when the person asking was Kitty, there wasn’t a lot I wouldn’t do. “What about you?”

“Me?” Kitty scoffed a little, tossing a blade farther than usual. For the first time I could see how bitter this entire situation was making her. She was ignoring my eyes, frowning at a ghost. It was truly a pity. “I was supposed to have joined Jakob in Bruges by now, but I don’t think that’s ever going to happen at this rate.”

I registered how my essence readied for the blow, but ignored it. “And why not?”

She sighed, glancing at me sadly for a moment before fixating her eyes on the horizon again. “Because of Nathaniel.”

And there it was. The name. Kitty was inexperienced in this business, I knew, but seeing as she’d witnessed what happens when you utter a name charged with meaning in front of a superior entity, I wasn’t expecting her to make the same mistake twice so soon. But I suppose I gave a human too much credit.

Forcing the string of memories and conflicted feelings attached to his name back to the far recesses of my mind, I let my gaze return to the ruined view ahead. Granted that Earth hardly ever soothed my essence in any way, but vast parks like this provided some respite to my allergic reaction to cities (6). Therefore, seeing the burnt down trees, scorched leaves and flowers’ ashes had the opposite effect. I was quite restless.

(6) Urban spaces always make me feel wearier, mainly because I associate their grey landscape to most unpleasant things, like iron, silver, and magicians.

While contemplating this, I kept my silence. Perhaps it hung heavier than it should have, but you know me: I never add a comment just for the purpose of hearing my own voice, perfect as it is in all its variations. I rather prefer to only spare the words needed for efficient and meaningful conversation.

Besides, Kitty’s grief was absolutely outside my areas of expertise (7), so I’d be the first to wave that white flag and gracefully bow down as the metaphorical curtain closed. Still, being the gracious djinni that I am, I patted Kitty’s back awkwardly in hopes that it’d help, and said, “Look, Kitty, I have to concede that while my knowledge is vast in many areas, comfort is not one of them.”

(7) Yes, plural. Not all of us are that limited.

Kitty smiled a little at that, and I was encouraged to proceed. “Listen, before he left, he asked me to say hello. I guess he knew you’d call, eh?”

She looked at me again, seemed to consider my words for a moment. Then she nodded slowly, and said, “I think it’s time I tell you why I summoned you. Before we’re interrupted again.”

“Sounds about right.”

I could almost hear the collective sigh of relief from the grass as Kitty snapped one last leaf in two and tossed the blade aside. She then made a great show of dusting off her hands and repeatedly run them over her thighs. The horizon held her attention for a few seconds more, and I nearly burst her bubble in order to move things along (8).

(8) What? I didn’t have the time and, since comfort isn’t my department, I’d figured we’d get to the point so that I could fulfil her request and then merrily go back home.

A few moments later, Kitty inhaled deeply and turned her gaze to mine, only to say, “Nathaniel is alive.”

I blinked at her, having fully heard what she’d said, but not exactly computing the message. “Pardon?”

The corners of her lips twitched a little, but they were back to normal the next moment. “He’s alive, Bartimaeus. Not doing very well, though…” She clicked her tongue as if to break herself free from her own treacherous mind. “But all things considered, it’s a miracle. So I need your help. Well, Piper and I need your help.” I registered the need for me to respond, but my essence refused the command. “London is dangerous these days. We never know when we can get attacked, or who is lurking in the shadows. So, having someone we trust to look after him for a few hours a day would put our minds at ease and—”

“Wait a second there, Kitty,” I interrupted, palm up to physically stop her from rambling on if necessary. “What do you mean, that dimwit is alive? I vividly remember Nouda being upon us, and—there were a lot of teeth and tentacles, you know?—and he couldn’t have survived _that_ , could he? And if he’d _actually_ managed to _somehow_ blow Nouda off without getting crushed, the Palace was about to crumble down. I mean, that was the _plan_ —to blow it up with Nouda inside, so that he had no chance of escaping or surviving. And even if _that_ weren’t enough, that wound on his side would have taken care of it for him soon enough. Well, I realise that medical attention nowadays is much better than—doesn’t matter. Now you’re telling me all of that wasn’t enough to kill one feeble, annoying human being?”

Kitty stayed in stunned silence for a moment or two, and then she inhaled and said, “Well, you just about summed it all up, yes.”

I’m sure I was eyeing her as if she had grown a second head—which she might as well have, if my day were to be about dealing only with ridiculous things. I scanned her face for a sign of mockery or, you know, to check if she wasn’t simply barking mad at this point, but I found nothing alarming (9).

(9) At least no more than usual. That dry skin is going to be giving her a lot of problems by the time she reaches thirty.

“I’m not deluded, Bartimaeus,” she said as if she’d read my mind.

I’ve heard many tales of women having a sort of special power called intuition that they use to terrorise the opposite sex, but I’d always chalked it up to the hogwash that is human society’s insistence on binary ideals. However, as Kitty’s glare didn’t dwindle for another moment, I must say I almost believed it. But then again, Kitty is a scary specimen. Maybe her gender is ‘scary, sceptical person who enjoys traumatising poor djinn’. Go ahead and ask a scientist.

“Nathaniel is in a hospital bed, comatose, not dead… or not for now, at least,” she proceeded. “And I summoned you because there is no one else I can trust.”

“Of course not,” I automatically retorted, but I regret to inform that there was no bite to it. That bastard wasn’t dead. After _all_ of that he was going to go down in history as a hero who had saved everyone, _including his djinni_ , and I would be the traitor. Brilliant. This was just like him. I bet he survived just so he could spite me and rub it in my face.

“Bartimaeus?”

I snapped out of it. “How?”

Kitty furrowed her eyebrows, probably wondering why that was important, but also seemingly concerned. She could be sweet, Kitty. I already knew that she could be a fiercely loyal friend, and also just plain fierce, so to see sweet was always a small surprise for me.

“How he survived?” she asked. I nodded. “Well, we aren’t sure, but when we found him there was nothing on top of him. In fact, both the fire and the rubble seemed to have kept a certain distance. There was an invisible force of sorts around him, sort of like a dome, and the Staff was broken. We checked for magic, but all of it was gone. Piper says it could have been a Shield, but can’t explain how it happened.”

I considered this for a moment. It did sound like a Shield, but I certainly don’t remember casting one around us before leaving, and there was no one there besides Nouda, who most certainly wouldn’t be trying to cast a Shield around his food.

Kitty hasn’t stopped talking since she dropped this bomb on me, though. “…so I was hoping you could keep Nathaniel company—just for a couple hours a day,” she quickly added, clearly expecting me to flat-out refuse her. “We can’t always stay there ourselves and there isn’t really anyone else we’d trust. And I realise I’m not asking for something easy, especially not after all of this, but I wouldn’t ask if I could do it all myself.”

The thing is I believed every word she was saying—Kitty wasn’t the type to unload what she viewed as her responsibility onto someone else. However, I was still too stunned about all of this newfound information to let the reality of her request truly sink in, and I am not happy to report that it took me a moment to fully realise the implications of what she was asking me to do.

It was still blind trust, despite everything else. She had no way of knowing that I wouldn’t try to harm him. As far as she knew, he and I didn’t get along well. And as far as she knew, I hadn’t killed him simply because it would inconvenience me. Which is nothing but the truth. Or used to be. Things had got foggy somewhere between the frog incident and saving the world together.

“So, let me see if I’m getting this straight. You want me to guard him while you and Piper can’t, because you _trust_ I won’t harm him? You do realise who you’re talking to here, right? What gives you the idea I won’t be the first in line to decimate Mandrake? I was his ‘demon’—” yes, I included air quotes, “—for years. We aren’t exactly the best of pals.”

Kitty looked at me as if in that moment I was the one growing a second head. I checked. False alarm. One head only on all seven planes (10). “Bartimaeus, he dismissed you right before you _both_ were killed. Besides, ever since I told you he’s alive, you haven’t moved from the spot. In fact, I think I just witnessed you having a small meltdown for the first time.” I sputtered in Ancient Greek and she was back to grinning. Her eyes softened a bit afterwards. “He clearly thinks highly of you, and I don’t think you hate him either.”

(10) Yes, on all seven. There’s a hint for you.

“Please don’t go about picturing us two as best pals doing whatever it is that you kids do these days with your best pals. That’s just wrong and offensive.”

Kitty heartily laughed at the image. “Don’t be such an old grump, Bartimaeus. We’re all alive for now, and that’s what matters.”

I don’t think Kitty did it on purpose—it is, in fact, highly unlikely that she would be thinking on the same lines as me—but with those words she had me go back more than two millennia in time, back to Alexandria, back to that shoddy hideout with Ptolemy helplessly bleeding out in front of my eyes and a group of blood-thirsty assassins outside, just about to finish their business. And she got me to think of Ptolemy—clever, kind, warm Ptolemy, who had dedicated his life to research, who had created the very pentacle Kitty had used to find me in the Other Place to get me to become a traitor. And then I thought of the annoying prat, hanging on for dear life in a hospital bed, after everything he’d been through.

Now, I reckon I’m not a big believer in Fate and the works, but if I was being told something, if I was being _gifted_ something, then I could only think that Fate had a damn idiotic way of doing it, because no way in hell would him surviving ever make Ptolemy’s death the tiniest bit acceptable.


	2. hollowed-out picture of skin and bone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this chapter, 'cause I've rewritten and edited this about five times! My beta is so done with me already! (And not responsible for any inconsistencies, since I didn't let her edit this for the 3rd time.) (Also also, many thanks to anjumstar, AKA the awesomest beta, and the only one who's had the patience to put up with my mysterious but incessant rambling about this story for the past years. Isn't she a jewel?)

_Kitty_

Kitty hadn’t slept well in what seemed like years.

After going to the Other Place and coming back with wrinkles and strands of grey hair as a reward, she had watched as the Glass Palace loudly gave in and Nouda simply vanished, colourful particles floating up to the sky and charging the air with unspent magic.

Her feet had moved before she could think. As a result, Kitty had been the first to sprint to the ruins, the Amulet striking her chest violently as she ran and called for help to follow until her voice became hoarse.

The fires had been quickly expanding beyond the limits of the Palace. They would devour Hyde Park if the fire services didn’t act quickly. However, busy as they’d been, it was a miracle they’d made it at all. But sure enough, the sirens had eventually sounded behind her, rapidly and blessedly closing in.

Kitty went up ahead despite logic dictating that she shouldn’t.

Soon smoke had engulfed her in its toxic embrace, making it hard to breathe, irritating her eyes. Kitty had pulled up her jumper to cover her mouth and nose; she couldn’t do much about her eyes, but she could protect her already burning lungs. Many times she’d avoided colliding with walls of fire, burning lines of hedges, trees falling to their demise in flames.

Kitty had been fully aware that the Amulet wouldn’t protect her from something non-magical, however elemental it was, but she’d carried on, staying on the path and avoiding the foliage as much as possible. When she’d almost stumbled on a piece of rubble, she’d realised that she was close. And after carefully making her way through what was left of the building—shattered glass everywhere, the steel infrastructure awkwardly bent or melted in places, small pieces of barely recognisable, burnt furniture—she’d found him.

Nathaniel had been lying motionless, the broken Staff still in his hand, and what seemed to be a dome of invisible magical energy surrounding him, electrifying the air and making Kitty’s hairs stand on end. She couldn’t make out the shape, just a faint glimmer, the contours being licked by the fire.

Nathaniel had still been bleeding, but also still breathing. As soon as Kitty had seen his chest move, she’d rushed to his side. The Amulet had glinted and slightly levitated as it absorbed the magic, sending rapid pulses of energy into the air, and Kitty had hesitated, not knowing if that was supposed to happen.

The paramedics had been by her side before she could reach any conclusions, however, shouting numbers and words she didn’t understand, telling her to please move out of the way. Spirits and humans alike flocked around Nathaniel, obscuring her vision. Helplessness had gripped her so hard she had merely stood there and watched until Piper found her.

* * *

“…and so I made that pompous git go through a good ol’ flip to his essence. _Twice_. And let me tell you, Uraziel was pretty much fine with it, because—hey, you listening?”

Bartimaeus’ chattering brought Kitty back to the present moment. She shook her head a bit before answering. “Sorry, I got distracted. What were you saying?”

“Well, it’s not funny if I have to tell it twice, you know,” Bartimaeus said sourly, crossing his arms, in spite of being over 5,000-years-old. But Kitty knew better than to point that out.

She didn’t reply. They were getting closer to the hospital, which wasn’t necessarily hard to spot since it was one of the tallest buildings right next to the Tower of London. And fortunately, they were going by foot. Bartimaeus had suggested another flight so they could get to St Thomas' Hospital faster, but she was still feeling ill, and from where they were it would probably be a half-hour walk. Bartimaeus had then pointed out that it was fine if she got nauseated, since they were going to the hospital anyway.

She hadn’t replied to that either, since wasting words was not her usual _modus operandi._

Kitty had simply walked on, fiddling with the Amulet of Samarkand out of sheer habit, pretending not to notice the wary looks Bartimaeus sent it. They’d made good progress already, and should arrive at the hospital in under ten minutes. In fact, as they rounded a corner, Westminster Bridge finally started appearing—gloomy and battered—in her line of sight.

“Tell me again why you were on the wrong side of the Thames if you were supposed to be on the other side to begin with,” Bartimaeus said after a while. There was even an eyebrow arched at her to go with it.

Kitty sighed. She really didn’t want to explain to Bartimaeus that she still had no idea if her parents were alive and that she had been trying to locate them, going to the makeshift hospital tents that had been set up around Westminster to deal with the wounded. Her mother might have been working at the printing firm in South London (if she still worked as a cleaner there, that was), but her father’s job had been in central London. Assuming he hadn’t been made redundant or simply fired for having a deviant daughter, he could have very well been caught in the middle of the revolt.

Kitty didn’t feel guilty about the fact that she’d first checked on the Hyrneks. She’d rushed to the house the moment she was left in peace, and had found all of them gathered at the familiar living room, worried sick about her. Kitty had been pulled into the only group hug of her life, tearing up a little as relieved words were exchanged. Then she’d written a quick letter to Jakob to let him know she was fine before he got too worried. She’d left the Hyrneks with the promise of returning soon.

Her parents hadn’t been home. The house didn’t look like it’d been lived in for the past months, and the Hyrneks simply told her they’d left six months before. That didn’t leave her too much to go on, but Kitty was trying. Whether she should was of no consequence at the moment. In her spare time, Kitty made her way through the tents and hospitals, enquiring after Mr and Mrs Jones. More often than she cared to remember, Kitty had been asked to look at unidentified dead bodies, her heart clenching painfully each time before the blanket was lifted and neither of her parents’ dead faces were uncovered. She didn’t want to think of what became of those that remained unidentified for longer than a few days.

Nathaniel was a magician; one in severe condition, no less, so of course he’d get to go to a fancy hospital like St Thomas—get the royal treatment. On the other hand, Jones wasn’t exactly an uncommon surname. Besides, even if her parents had been identified among the casualties or were receiving care at an actual hospital, they would surely not be expecting her after their last encounter. She’d told them so, after all.

So, Kitty merely shrugged and said instead, “They wanted to run some tests, so I figured that was the best time to leave since that tends to last all morning. Besides, I needed to find a suitable place to summon you.”

“And that was the best you found?”

Kitty wrinkled her nose at him. “Believe it or not, yes. Yes, it was. Have you looked around?”

As she said that, she took a left down a smelly alley with irregular, wet pavement and shoddy-looking brown-bricked buildings. More of the same greeted her on the other side. Kitty knew London had a lot of narrow alleys one must cut through to get places. She avoided them as a rule, but with Bartimaeus by her side they didn’t feel as daunting.

Which was humiliating enough as a thought, much less verbalised.

Kitty halted as she saw two people run from inside a small house two buildings down, leaving the door ajar. She felt Bartimaeus stop as well. After a few seconds, he murmured, “Just petty thieves, I’m afraid.” In spite of reason telling her that Bartimaeus belonged to an entirely different species, he could sometimes seem so human to her that she forgot how much farther his sight could see. Which made her previous thought not seem as humiliating.

She started walking again, a long and tired sigh erupting from her chest. Bartimaeus followed. “This is definitely starting to become a big problem. I should tell Piper about it.”

“I thought you said she has her hands full with the hybrid hunt.”

So she had. She barely remembered mentioning it to him earlier, which just reinforced her desperate need for sleep.

“Well, yes, but she will probably communicate this to the Council, and they’ll decide on what to do. I don’t know what other way to go about this, Bartimaeus. I can’t exactly do anything by myself.”

“Remind me again why you aren’t a member,” Bartimaeus said. Sarcastically, she supposed. It always seemed to be the case with him. And she knew he knew the answer, but she obliged him anyway.

“Because I’m supposed to be _travelling_ , which I’m clearly not doing right now, but will be as soon as Nathaniel wakes up. Don’t want to be held down by a position now.”

Bartimaeus stayed surprisingly silent for a bit.

They finally rounded a corner and spotted the entrance to the Westminster Bridge. St Thomas' Hospital greeted them right on the other side of the Thames in all its renovated, modern, many-windowed glory.

The hospital had been built right on the banks of the Thames, but she knew it had barely been affected. Ironically, the river itself seemed to somewhat have acted as a deterrent of sorts, keeping the hybrids from wreaking further havoc in Lambeth and fully destroying the hospital. Even with the layer of physical protection that the human bodies provided, afrits and marids alike had been reluctant to come to unnecessary contact with water. Or maybe Nathaniel and Bartimaeus had stopped them before they could get too committed to destroying that side of the river too.

Kitty began carefully crossing over Westminster Bridge, questioning her choice not to fly to the hospital for the first time. She usually crossed Lambeth Bridge instead, begrudgingly sitting in a shiny black car driven by Piper’s personal chauffeur at the latter’s insistence. Westminster Bridge had been deemed unsafe to cross by car, and very few people dared to even do it by foot.

Bartimaeus adopted the guise of a crow and flew beside her, the iron probably repulsing him. The Thames roiled sourly beneath, grey and ominous, its stench getting stronger and stronger to the point Bartimaeus started making gagging noises in clear protest. Kitty rolled her eyes at him and proceeded, minding where she stepped. Twice Bartimaeus had to grab her by the collar of her jumper to keep her from going for a swim.

As they reached the hospital’s garden, Kitty felt like they’d entered a new universe where the uprising had never occurred. Green foliage extended ahead, dotted by trees and rows of flowers. At the centre, overshadowing all else, was the Revolving Torsion. Even a month after the attacks the iron fountain remained unused in silent respect for the many lives that had been taken or aggrieved. A few people had gathered around it, some of which seemed to be praying.

Kitty moved along, making for the cream-coloured stairs that led to the entrance. Bartimaeus’s flapping wings sounded slightly farther than she remembered. She turned around to see him putting as much distance as possible between the fountain and himself. At some point he alighted on her shoulder and remained there until they reached the door.

There they stopped in silent twin contemplation. Bartimaeus returned to Ptolemy’s form when he ascertained no one was looking his way. This time he opted for trousers and a shirt instead of the usual loincloth, which Kitty was glad for. She didn’t know how she’d explain a teenager wearing a loincloth in 21st century London.

After a few more seconds of idly standing there and getting shouldered by patients and medical staff alike, Bartimaeus gave a resigned sigh. “What if he doesn’t wake up?” he quietly asked.

Kitty had thought about this, of course. Many times. And with the hospital looming before them, the possibility seemed to get bigger and clearer. She understood this as a logical outcome. Nathaniel shouldn’t even be alive—Bartimaeus had said so himself. They didn’t even understand yet what had protected him from the building. Nonetheless, all of that was irrelevant at the moment: the doctors hadn’t given up yet, so neither would she.

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m coming here every day until we get a conclusive result.”

“How charitable of you.”

Kitty bit her tongue so that she didn’t reply in kind. Bartimaeus was doing the exact same thing, and yet she was the generous one.

Kitty didn’t know much about Nathaniel. Nevertheless, all her memories of him were charged with strong emotions, marked the ending of a chapter of her life and opened the door to another. It was an odd connection, one she didn’t quite understand herself, so how could she explain it to Bartimaeus?

Kitty didn’t suppose spirits sat around waiting for their masters to get better—not after everything Bartimaeus had told her. Or that they understood this sense of duty to another human when most of the time they only got to see the worst in humans. Well, given his history with Ptolemy, maybe Bartimaeus would partly understand.

Regardless of him understanding her perspective, she knew he didn’t care as little about Nathaniel’s fate as he tried to make it seem. For one thing, he’d basically gone into overdrive on her after the big revelation that Nathaniel was alive (there had been smoke coming out of his ears, but she had decided that that too should remain unsaid). And Bartimaeus hadn’t said Nathaniel’s name once ever since she’d summoned him. Given her history with uttering names around Bartimaeus, Kitty wasn’t altogether surprised, so she kept it to a minimum herself.

Kitty supposed Bartimaeus didn’t know how to react after everything that had happened. The entire situation couldn’t be easy for him, what with the way Nathaniel had acted right at the end—dismissing Bartimaeus when he’d sensed they’d both die unnecessarily. He’d unknowingly done the exact same thing Ptolemy had millennia ago.

If Kitty were being honest, she hadn’t sorted through her own feelings yet either. She didn’t know if some form of guilt was driving her, or if it truly was simply a sense of duty, of feeling indebted to someone who had risked everything regardless of what it cost him. Maybe it was their weird history, or the fact Kitty felt connected to him after this last adventure. Maybe that was part of the reason why she’d summoned Bartimaeus specifically, and not just because she trusted him.

Piper was nice to her, and she’d been through some trauma of her own. The Hyrneks were supportive and sweet, always making sure she ate and rested properly. Even Mr Button had put an offer on the table.

But—she realised with some surprise—nobody truly understood.

Bartimaeus cleared his throat, reminding her that they’d been awkwardly standing there for minutes now. As her mind ceased its wandering, Kitty found her answer. It was simple, really. No big or astounding revelations. No deep ones, either. She’d known it for a while.

Kitty stared at the door ahead, body and soul steeled and ready for the battle within. With a newfound clarity washing over her, Kitty answered Bartimaeus’s implied question:

“He has nobody else.”

* * *

Kitty was hitting her very last nerve. And the people around her seemed to know it, because, as far as she could tell, nurses and visitors alike were clearing away from around her. Which was just as well. Jakob himself had told her on more than one occasion that her face did all the talking for her, and Kitty had found this to be true throughout the years. Even if more recently she’d taken to schooling it to fit in with the crowd, the past month had erased all that training.

Having the distinct hospital smell—that of disinfectant, and still of something stuffy and sickly lingering in spite of it—assaulting her nostrils was more than she was happy to deal with. But now they were being barred entrance because Bartimaeus was a spirit and well, hadn’t they just destroyed London? Kitty had pleaded with three different secretaries, and all had asked her to leave. The burly security officer had been giving her the eye for the past ten minutes, a red sphere on the wall over his head angrily watching her every movement.

Now she had ambushed one of the nurses who’d been tending to Nathaniel, who seemed to like her well enough but wasn’t ecstatic about her tactics.

“Please just let us in. You know me, Sam. I’ve been here every day since John was checked in, and I was the one who led the paramedics to him at the scene. Why would I suddenly have the urge to murder him?”

“Well, if you’d lived with him—” Bartimaeus started.

Kitty whipped her head around to glare at Bartimaeus in a way she’d learned to master years ago. “Please stop helping.” He raised both hands in defence, and Kitty decided she would take what she could get.

Turning back to the young man behind the counter, she added, “ _This—”_ shoving a thumb in Bartimaeus’s direction, who made an indignant noise at being called ‘this’, “—was the djinni who helped John save all of your ungrateful butts, you know? It would do you good to show some respect.”

Sam looked appropriately surprised, staring Bartimaeus up and down as if to evaluate him. Bartimaeus was enjoying the attention, Kitty could tell, if the way he stood up straighter and puffed out his chest were anything to go by.

Kitty watched Sam while he debated the possibilities. He was quite plain looking, if she were being honest—dark eyes and brown hair, nothing particularly outstanding about his height and weight either, just average—except maybe that he looked like the type of person who laughed a lot. The lines on the corners of his eyes and around his mouth were those of someone who seemed to find amusement in everyday life, and Kitty supposed that was what made him look attractive.

Bartimaeus obviously had to interrupt Sam’s inner debate. “Look, Samuel, I’m as happy about this situation as you are. If it were up to me, I would have stayed back home, but Kitty here just had to ruin my peace, so really, we’re in this mess together. She’s terribly stubborn.”

“Oh, bloody hell, Bartimaeus!”

Sam looked slightly amused by their banter, but he still wouldn’t budge. “Kitty, that may be true, but I can’t just let a spirit in without proper clearance. In fact, I don’t even know how you made it to the upper floors,” he added, eyebrow raised.

Kitty sighed, positively exasperated. Why must she always get doors slammed in her face? “What do you need, then? Does Piper have to sign something? Issue a government certificate of some sort? Because if you haven’t noticed, there is no government! Whitehall is pretty much destroyed, and the majority of the ministers are dead. The entire Council was decimated but John, who needs proper protection but can’t call on it because _he’s in a coma_.”

Sam grabbed the bridge of his nose, glancing at the remaining people waiting in the lobby to his left, and Kitty was sure he was finally going to simply beckon the security officer over to kick them out. Instead, he examined Bartimaeus again, and then gave a long sigh.

“I’ll let you in on two conditions.”

Kitty beamed, having to refrain from throwing a fist in victory and jumping over the desk to hug Sam. “We’ll behave, I promise.”

“Yes, well, that goes without saying.” He gave her a warning look. Kitty brushed off the memory of threatening a secretary with a punch a few minutes ago. Bartimaeus had bodily restrained her before she could act on her words. “One, Piper does indeed need to give formal authorisation, and two,” he turned his gaze to Bartimaeus, “you need to be discreet. None of that demonic business in here, alright? No horns, no tails, no wings, no inhuman parts on a human. Everyone is a little jittery after what happened and while we’re all in your debt, most people don’t realise that.”

Bartimaeus rolled his eyes. “Humans are jittery about spirits when it’s magicians who enabled this disaster to happen.”

“I agree,” Sam said, surprising both Kitty and Bartimaeus. Sam shrugged at their expressions. “You can’t be a nurse without being perceptive to a degree,” he offered. Kitty wasn’t sure that applied to every nurse, but she didn’t comment. “Regardless, people are scared.”

Kitty nodded. “That’s fair. I’ll talk to Piper when she comes by later.” As an after-thought, she said, “Sam, are there… any news?” She gave him a meaningful look.

Sam’s expression softened. And he was perceptive enough to understand Kitty didn’t want Bartimaeus to catch her drift too, bless him. “Nothing so far.”

Kitty nodded again, ignoring the look Bartimaeus was giving her. She hoped that question could be confused with her asking about Nathaniel’s condition, but she meant her parents, and Sam knew it. Bartimaeus didn’t need to know. Not yet.

Sam cleared his throat before the awkwardness could stretch further. “I trust you know your way by now, Kitty, so I won’t accompany you. I will notify the doctor you’re here and come by later. For now, I’ll have to inform security to lower the protective wards and let you through.”

“Well, that’s certainly better than having to dismantle them one by one,” Bartimaeus quipped.

“Or getting stuck in them,” Kitty said.

“Tsk.”

Sam shook his head, but he was smiling. “No need for either. Now, off you go.”

Kitty swung her backpack over her shoulder, ready to leave. Sam too had turned away and was talking to the security officer, presumably explaining the situation and having him alert the department of security of the hospital.

“Oh,” Sam said as they moved past him. “Thank you for your service, Bartimaeus. Much obliged.”

Kitty thought Bartimaeus’s head might just balloon and explode in a burst of rainbow confetti, which wasn’t what they’d agreed to at all. She dragged him along, waving to Sam in acknowledgement on Bartimaeus’s behalf.

* * *

Nathaniel was lying in the only bed in the room, next to a window overlooking the Thames and the hospital gardens. Two chairs and an armchair encompassed the scant decoration of the room, but the white and yellow daisies on his nightstand added some hope to it. Kitty had brought them the previous day, figuring Nathaniel needed some more cheer if he was to be motivated into coming back.

However, and regardless of the flowers, Nathaniel was still a hollowed-out picture of skin and bone, and it never got easier to see it, even after a full month of daily visits.

He seemed to disappear under the blankets from how frail and thin he looked. His skin was yellow and pasty, with dark circles around his eyes and prominent cheekbones. There was an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, two drips hanging above the bed, one of them crimson, snaking down and disappearing underneath a dressing on the inside of his elbow. The heart monitor beeped steadily and quietly, just like his almost imperceptible chest movements.

Kitty looked up at Bartimaeus to see how he was taking in all of this, finding nothing but a blank expression plastered on his phony face. Kitty suddenly remembered their long conversation when she’d summoned him for the first time. Back then, Kitty had told Bartimaeus he was lucky to live on after so many empires had fallen. His response had surprised her at the time, turning all her preconceived notions of spirits and their masters on their heads once again. But now she understood it better, and she reckoned she wouldn’t have traded places with Bartimaeus no matter the offer.

Kitty sighed, squared her shoulders, and walked in with more confidence than she had, hoping Bartimaeus would follow her in.

He eventually did, quietly closing the door behind him, in an uncharacteristic show of respect for Nathaniel and the general human population. Kitty lowered herself to a chair next to the bed, taking Nathaniel’s cold hand by force of habit and greeting him in a quiet whisper. She felt Bartimaeus’s eyes on her, but she didn’t let it bother her. “Here he is,” Bartimaeus finally said.

Kitty nodded. “Here he is.”

Bartimaeus said nothing else, choosing to lean against the wall and look outside the window instead. Kitty was thankful for the quiet—truly, she hadn’t experienced it much lately—but it was also quite disconcerting. She considered trying to engage Bartimaeus in conversation, but she had never been the best with words, especially not at times like this.

So, instead, she talked to Nathaniel, like she usually did. She began recounting the events of the day, starting by her summoning Bartimaeus and the attack that followed, adding some humour to it whenever possible. Kitty included good news, saying that, so far, they hadn’t been attacked by any of the Empire’s enemies, not even the Czechs. Magician-governed nations were rattled, and public riots had started up all over Europe, most prominently in Prague and Rome. She didn’t tell him that the war in North America was obviously lost, nor how many soldiers had been held captive and were probably being tortured for information at the moment.

Eventually Bartimaeus dragged a chair and sat opposite her. She watched as his eyes scanned the unconscious magician in silence. His brow was furrowed, whether in concentration or contemplation she did not know, and wouldn’t ask. When he didn’t say anything for a while, Kitty continued.

“Wait till you wake up and we tell everyone.” Kitty didn't look at Bartimaeus when he lifted his head to stare at her. “You have _fans_ now, can you believe it? Well, you were sort of popular already, I suppose, but now people actually like and admire you. Of course, they think you’re dead… It’ll be quite the surprise, eh?”

Kitty laughed quietly, noticing how sharp it sounded in the otherwise silent room. “There are rumours of a statue in Hyde Park and everything. I’m sure there’ll be some sort of fancy celebration too, in your honour.”

Bartimaeus started grumbling something about magicians getting all the credit.

“And Bartimaeus’s too, of course. Wherever would we be without him?” Kitty gave him a look, but Bartimaeus was busy pretending he wasn’t listening. So she returned her gaze to Nathaniel’s unresponsive face. “You’ll have to get used to the idea of a mixed government, I’m afraid. There’s no going back now. Piper is going crazy over there, so I’m sure she’d appreciate the help.”

“You could also make sure Kitty doesn't bother me anymore,” Bartimaeus retorted.

Kitty would have attempted to hit his legs under the bed if she weren’t in a hospital. She settled for an eyeroll. “And make sure Bartimaeus gets his fair share of recognition, so that he can stop being such a grumpy old man.”

“I’m not _old_ ,” he protested. “I’m wise.”

“Well, that sure explains the childish bickering with Nathaniel, and the tantrums.”

“Excuse _you_ , I do not throw temper tantrums!”

“Of course not.” Kitty gently squeezed Nathaniel’s hand and leaned in closer, as if to divulge a secret. “You agree with me, don’t you?”

There was no reply, obviously, and Kitty tried not to get dispirited by it, but it was getting harder every day. Harder to wait, harder not to feel like a failure who kept disappointing the people who relied on her, like Jakob, Anne, Fred, and even Mr Pennyfeather and Stanley had. Now she was adding Nathaniel to the list.

“He probably would,” Bartimaeus wryly said.

Kitty smiled a little at that, but made no comment. With her free hand, she pushed back Nathaniel’s oily hair from his hot, humid forehead.

“But, you know…” She shrugged noncommittally, fighting off the surge of emotion rising to her throat, clenching it in a tight grip. She swallowed. “You can’t do all of those if you don’t wake up. So, come on now.” Her voice caught, her eyes stung.

“Kitty…” Bartimaeus whispered.

She ignored him. “We’ll be waiting right here.”

There was no reply.


	3. between the lines of fear and blame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anjumstar sure is wild when it comes to dropping everything and betaing this for me and giving my anxiety and self-doubt the finger. They hear you. They're gone. I'm satisfied with this chapter now.  
> Also many thanks for the kudos and reviews! :)

_Piper_

Rebecca Piper left the committee room at the Ministry for Employment and walked briskly to the entrance, where her chauffeur was waiting by a black limousine. She barely gave him the time to open the door for her, hurrying in and escaping the claws of her personal security detail. She urged the chauffeur on, highly aware of the fact that she was once again overlooking protocol.

In all honesty, she couldn't care less.

Out the corner of her eye Piper spied four pigeons flanking the car and sighed. Harold Button was a stubborn man. Kind, but stubborn. If she had to continue dismissing her security, she would strangle the summoners themselves. Piper was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. A bunch of muscled men and their demons wouldn't make much of a difference in a city where the most powerful magician was comatose.

Piper leaned back, and closed her eyes for just a minute. _Just a minute_.

Her mind buzzed with information and political debates, about the situation in America, Europe's general indignation and hostility, the uncaptured hybrids. She didn't know how to handle any of this. Should they find a neutral land to exchange prisoners with North America? Hold meetings with European representatives and discuss conditions before London was burned to the ground? She wouldn't even get started on the hybrids.

Being Prime Minister didn't come with a handbook (she'd checked), and responsibilities were piling up on her shoulders like lead, threatening to sink her.

Mr Button had been correct in suggesting that returning troops had dissuaded further invasions and attacks, but that wouldn't last long. There were many spies in London. Sooner or later it'd become clear how fragile the city had become, with a government made up of lesser magicians and commoners.

Piper opened her eyes to find the car crossing over Lambeth Bridge. The Thames reflected the yellows and oranges of the setting sun, nearly blinding her. She squinted at the river's south bank. The grey landscape was familiar and comforting, a balm to the ever-present destruction in Whitehall.

Piper loved London. She'd loved this city for as long as she could remember, and she couldn't imagine it ever being any other way but powerful and imposing. The weather didn't bother her; the sun was overrated, and it could and would give you skin cancer if you weren't careful enough. London was meant to look grey, steely, silvery, because it was a force to be reckoned with, and people should be able to tell it from a first glance. On rainy days the pavements shone under sunlight or moonlight, and was there anything more beautiful than that?

Not everyone shared of this sentiment, of course. Some more extreme commoners wished to rebuild it from top to bottom, which was both impractical and ridiculous. Changes needed to be made, she knew, but certainly not that many, and certainly not in such a crisis.

As the car snaked around the buildings, the outline of the hospital became clearer. It was one of the best protected buildings in London at the moment: each window had nexuses and hexes at the ready to discourage trespassers, a dozen sentries floated about, ghouls patrolled the gardens at night. Nathaniel's room had extra, invisible security: two foliots embedded in the walls. They didn't disturb the doctors, Kitty, herself, or anyone accompanying the two of them. They simply acted when the patient was under attack. So they remained unseen, for now.

Nathaniel… Now that'd been a surprise. Piper had never met another magician who'd willingly shared his birth name. In fact, she was almost certain most magicians didn't even remember theirs. Piper didn't. Her master had made sure of it. But—regardless of this eccentricity—Piper knew she'd never give up Nathaniel's name.

It was an odd thing, this feeling. She'd watched in awe as Nathaniel had taken it upon himself to save all of them, going as far as merging with a spirit (or so Kitty'd said), and then nearly die in the process. Not even Makepeace's most far-fetched plays had ever dared present such a hero, and now Piper understood why: magicians weren't heroes. For years she—and many others, especially magicians themselves—had believed this ideal that magicians were great protectors, that without them the Empire would crumble. But that was just a scheme to make magicians (including herself) feel important, for them to disregard the commoners' suffering, justify their greediness.

Keeping Nathaniel's name to herself was her way of thanking him, she supposed. That and the hospital visits.

The meeting hammered on at the back of her head, making her press her fingers against her eyes to keep it there. A month of nearly daily meetings would tire anyone out, Piper supposed, but it still didn't lift her spirits to think so. At the rate things were going, they'd have a civil war to worry about.

London needed a leader, and Piper was no such thing.

* * *

When Piper got out of the car, the first thing she noticed was how cold it'd become in the short time it'd taken them to drive from the Ministry for Employment to the hospital. The second thing was the sun, which was saying its final goodbyes for the day, spreading a line of fire over the river and making the bridges glimmer. Piper pulled her black coat tighter around her small figure, turned her face away from the sun, and began the short walk towards the hospital.

The third thing Piper noticed was a small rustling behind her. The fourth, a ringing in her ear, courtesy of her nexus.

Piper jumped out of the way just before sapphire flames erupted from the spot she'd been standing on. She heard shouts and the sulphurous stench of Detonations permeating the air around her. Half-crawling, half-running, Piper made it to the garden's fountain and ducked there, feeling every bit a pathetic little girl as the intensity of the spells increased.

She tentatively poked her head from behind the Revolving Torsion to peek at the ongoing action. From what she could see, the four pigeons were no more. In their places stood four dark mythological creatures: two griffins—one golden, the other bronze—a centaur, and a faun. They circled a humanoid figure, which had too many limbs of different sizes and shapes, patches of purple fur sprouting from the most random places, and scaly skin. It roared and stomped, firing spells everywhere. Piper ducked again behind the fountain, muttering a few words.

Ezekiel—her best djinni—materialised right beside her as a Husky puppy. It let out a friendly bark, wagged its little tail. Piper resisted the familiar urge to cuddle the dog and motioned with her head towards the battle. The Husky raised a tiny paw and put a Shield around them.

"Afrit?" Piper asked.

"Not quite," Ezekiel answered. Her voice was deep and pleasant, still young. She was only a thousand years old. "But it's a high-level djinni."

"So are you," Piper said. Ezekiel bowed her head gratefully. "But they aren't."

Just as she said this, the hybrid sent out a particularly powerful Convulsion. It crashed through the bronze griffin's Shield and made the djinni shake uncontrollably until it dissipated in a phosphorescent purple and blue cloud. Ezekiel hissed beside her. Piper winced at the sight. They'd lost a good djinni.

"Do you think you could…?"

"Certainly."

The puppy stood on all fours and began to grow. Before her eyes, the Husky more than quadrupled in size, kilograms of solid, lean muscle sprouting from nowhere. The fur thickened and darkened to an ashen hue. Two rows of sharp teeth glinted in her mouth, claws sharpened. Her wild eyes set on the target and before Piper could utter another word, Ezekiel was off with a low growl, making the ground tremble a bit and the wind rise from the impact.

Piper whipped her head around to watch, again feeling useless. This was exactly what they were trying to combat in Council meetings: magicians' heavy reliance on spirits. And here she was, doing exactly that. Although she didn't know what else she could do. She didn't have any magical items on her, or any kind of resilience.

Ezekiel joined the other three spirits by slamming harshly against the hybrid, sending it spiralling back in the air. The faun took the opportunity to throw four Flames at it, controlling them so that they circled the hybrid. It struggled fervently against the hold, roaring in frustration. When it seemed like it was about to break free, the centaur conjured a Hurricane around it.

Piper ducked again, protecting her eyes and grabbing on to the fountain with a hand as the wind whirled violently and pushed her back. The trees shook, producing a shower of autumn leaves. If Ezekiel hadn't put the Shield around her, Piper would have flown away like a balloon. As she lost her grip on the fountain and fell on her back, Piper cursed her karma.

Ezekiel barked something, probably at the centaur, and the Hurricane faded away to reveal a woozy-looking hybrid. Ezekiel lifted a paw, the three djinn flanking her did likewise. Four green explosions later, the spot where the hybrid had been floating on was empty.

Piper sat up, panting still, and watched as all four of the djinn bowed their heads as a purple mist drifted away.

* * *

Piper entered the hospital, slightly battered and very much still riding the aftershock of the hybrid encounter, and nearly collided with Sam. He noticed her dazed state straight away and pulled her aside to an unoccupied recreational room. Piper barely took note of the board games and puzzles piled on the shelves and the toys spread around the floor.

"Are you alright, Miss Piper? Do you need medical assistance?" Sam's dark eyes scrutinised her every movement.

"Yes, yes. I'm sorry about the commotion. There was a hybrid outside—it's dealt with," she added quickly, anticipating Sam's reaction. "But it got oddly close to the hospital."

"I'll let the department of security know. Now." He gently touched her elbow, beckoning her to look up at him. "Are you sure you're alright? I could ask a doctor to perform a quick exam."

"There's no need, thank you." Piper tried to smile, feeling her facial muscles tightening strangely and rejecting the movement. "I wouldn't want to pull anyone away from saving lives because of a scare."

Sam looked like he wanted to protest some more, but instead bowed and stepped aside a little to give her room. Piper let out a big exhale and nodded towards him, making her way to the door.

"Miss Piper," he called. Piper halted and turned to see him approach in tired steps. She guessed he must be nearing the end of his shift. "Before you go, I would like to ask you to issue a certification for a spirit to keep watch over Mr Mandrake indeterminately."

Piper felt her face muscles constrict into a frown, but barely registered it, or the information Sam was giving her. "I thought all that had been dealt with. Are you changing the foliots guarding Mr Mandrake?"

Sam seemed confused too. "Not at all, but you'll have to give official permission to have the djinni stay in the room since he's not been cleared by the department of security yet."

"What? You're making no sense. What djinni?"

"I figured Miss Jones had spoken with you."

"No, I've just arrived."

"Yes, but there are certainly other ways."

"True." Then, after an awkward pause in which both stood there without speaking or doing much besides frowning at nothing in particular, something clicked in place. Piper asked, "So, Kitty brought a djinni with her?"

"Indeed she did."

That was all she needed to hear.

* * *

Getting there was the easy part, going in the hardest. Always. There wasn't a day Piper entered Nathaniel's room with a light heart, and as the days became weeks and then a month, she felt like she'd been collecting pebbles and now couldn't hold all of them in her fragile magician's arms.

Standing there, Piper could hear Kitty's muffled voice through the door. There was a second voice, a familiar one. Piper's lips thinned as she debated on what to do. On the one hand, Bartimaeus had helped Nathaniel defeat the hybrids, gone as far as put his own life on the line. At least that's what Kitty had told her, and Piper had no reason to doubt her; after all, it had sounded so ridiculous no one would have been able to come up with it, not even Kitty.

On the other hand, Bartimaeus was still a spirit, one who'd spent some time in Nathaniel's brain doing god knew what. For all they knew, he could be the reason why Nathaniel wouldn't wake up. Piper gasped at the thought. Why _hadn't_ they considered that before? The medical staff had focused all of their energies on Nathaniel's side and shoulder. The blisters over his skin had also been treated, although some scars would never thoroughly fade.

But maybe that was the least of their problems. Kitty had told her that Bartimaeus disagreed with the invaders' way of seeing things, and that he very much wished to keep their worlds separate, but that hardly seemed like enough reason to trust two humans, one of them a magician he had actively insulted and diminished throughout the years. So, maybe Bartimaeus _was_ the real reason why Nathaniel was in a coma, and Kitty just wouldn't see it because she believed she and the djinni had a connection or something absurd of the sort.

Deciding that standing there gawking at a door would do her no good, Piper rechecked the planes two and three, readied the words for summoning Ezekiel to her side, and knocked. She turned the knob and walked in without waiting for a reply, spotting Kitty and Bartimaeus sitting together on an armchair—well, Kitty was sitting on the armchair, Bartimaeus was on the armrest, kicking his dark legs back and forth. She'd never understood his apparent preference for the form of an Egyptian boy, but throughout the years she'd learned that asking spirits about their main guises was an absolute waste of precious time. For one thing, that would hardly serve her any purpose, and for another, they would rarely give a magician an honest reply.

Piper politely nodded to both, keeping her distance and taking a peek at Nathaniel, who looked pretty much the same as when she'd left him the previous night with Kitty at his bedside—pale and weak, small, reduced to a shadow of his former self, defeated by a force too great. But whole, nonetheless. Or as much as possible.

Still, her fears weren't assuaged. Maybe Kitty had properly restricted Bartimaeus, but who was to say she had? For all her talent, Kitty was still inexperienced in the craft.

"He's fighting," Kitty murmured, confusing her pinched expression with worry for Nathaniel. Which, in a way, it was.

Piper nodded again, not sure what to say to that. For one thing, she didn't exactly understand Kitty's need to remain positive for her. Maybe it was that most days Piper managed to look rather undignified after the Council meetings—positively worn out and fed up, if she were being honest—but Piper knew Kitty was feeling all of it too. For some reason, Kitty had been open to her in spite of her general distrust of magicians, and Piper found herself trusting Kitty just the same, despite all the reasons why she probably wouldn't under different circumstances.

So, Piper did like Kitty, even though they differed in many aspects, perhaps even because of those differences. Maybe she just saw a valuable ally in Kitty; one who could help her soften the commoners' complaints and help her ease her ideas into their little heads. It was still too soon to tell what Kathleen Jones could do for her, though, so it was possible that Piper simply enjoyed her presence.

That had first come as a shock, about a week ago, when Piper had come back to do her daily visit to the hospital and had found herself laughing with Kitty and even confessing how difficult this entire situation was for her. Kitty wasn't exactly the best listener (Piper had learned this that same night), but she was genuine, and gave her honest opinion when asked, which could be quite the breath of fresh air in Piper's life.

Regardless, they needed to discuss the elephant in the room. Literally—Bartimaeus had transformed into a small elephant and started darting about the room to call attention upon himself. Piper was half-amused, half-annoyed, and wondered if this was what Nathaniel felt whenever he summoned Bartimaeus and why he'd made sure to do so in ensemble summons whenever possible.

"So, you called him," she said.

Kitty sighed, as if she were readying herself for a fight they'd had before, which was fair enough.

"Look, I know you have this magician-ingrained self in you, and that everything related to spirits must be put under scrutiny, but I trust Bartimaeus with my life. He saved us, regardless of how much it cost him, and now he's willing to help again, even though it hurts him being here."

"Her words, not mine," Bartimaeus cheerfully chimed, waving his ridiculous elephant trunk about.

Kitty rolled her eyes. "Ignore him. He's like this all the time, doesn't mean a word of it. Both Nathaniel and I are alive, aren't we? That should be proof enough."

"That could be true for now, but—" Piper stopped herself, eyes suddenly wide as saucers. A hand slapped her mouth in shock. "What have you _done_?! Now he knows his name!" The other hand joined its twin, this time to hold Piper's forehead as the magician kept pacing and muttering in disbelief.

"Oh, will you calm _down_ ," Bartimaeus said, throwing in his own eyeroll. "I've known his birth name for years. Why do you think he kept me around for so long?"

Piper was gobsmacked. For a minute, all she could do was gape like a fish, as her mind whirred and screeched in warning. She tried to make sense of the words, to reinterpret them in a way that suggested something else. But then her brain started piecing some things together, adding this new nuance to every summons Bartimaeus had been a part of, and it… fit. She never would have guessed it, but it fit.

"I did wonder…" she mumbled absentmindedly.

Bartimaeus clicked his tongue and waved his trunk dismissively. "Besides, _you_ learned his name from Kitty, when she used it in front of you right before he and I went inside the Glass Palace and made it go kaboom. Remember that?" Bartimaeus waited for her nod. "Now use your little brain. Don't you think I would've heard it too? We did share that pair of waxy ears, you know."

Piper glared at him. "How would I know how that worked? All the other hybrids were solely dominated by one entity. As far as I knew, he could have tamed you."

Bartimaeus snorted. "Tamed _me?_ Please. I didn't end him because I chose not to."

Piper felt her eyes widen again. "Is this true?" she asked Kitty.

"Yes."

"Why are you asking her? She was watching from the outside, just like you."

"I remember things a little differently, it seems," Kitty retorted.

"You helped, Kitty dearest, yes. But you know what I mean."

"I need to sit down," Piper decided, moving to the armchair Kitty had vacated a few minutes into their conversation.

"Okay." Kitty clapped her hands together. "Now that you two have let it out of your systems, can we talk business? Because this old lady would like nothing more than a kip. _Even_ better: turn in early."

"You're not old, Kitty," Bartimaeus said.

"Thank you, Bartimaeus. That's very kind of you, but—"

"You just look like everyone's favourite aunt. The one with a bad cough, who smokes too much and always keeps a bottle of vodka in her suspiciously heavy handbag."

The two of them eyed each other for a few silent seconds, until Piper decided it was her turn to intervene. "Getting back to the matter at hand," she started, removing her hands from her face, "why did you summon him? The hospital already has good defences."

"If you want to discourage a foliot or lesser djinni to casually stroll in, you mean," Bartimaeus said.

"He's right. Not to mention that Europe becomes increasingly restless every day. You've told me so yourself."

"Yes, but we're taking care of it. Plus, no one knows he's here."

"You mean besides you, me… and the medical staff?"

"Chosen medical staff. Only the people who absolutely need to know about it."

"And don't you think it's suspicious that you and I come here every single day? Not to mention predictable and easy to track."

"Kitty here has got a point." Bartimaeus pulled a chair with his trunk, indicating for Kitty to sit. "If I'd been sent to tail you, this would be like finding golden eggs."

Piper leaned back against the chair, feeling a sudden wave of fatigue wash over her. She pressed her fingers to her eyes in hopes of clearing the cobwebs forming in her mind, but to no avail. The more they discussed this, the clearer it became that Kitty and Bartimaeus were right. And if they were speaking truthfully, then there was no reason why this wasn't a good thing.

"Rebecca." Kitty spoke softly, as if to a stubborn toddler. "Let me help. Let us help. Despite what it might seem, Bartimaeus is quite competent."

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" Bartimaeus exclaimed indignantly, head-butting Kitty's chair, but not with much force.

Both Kitty and Piper ignored him. "You can't do this alone."

Piper sighed. "Did you at least instruct him properly?"

Kitty blinked at her. "Well, I asked him to stay here and guard Nathaniel while we were away—"

"That's not what she meant." Bartimaeus was smiling strangely, especially for an elephant. "She wants to know if you gave me a charge."

"Oh. No, I didn't."

"You d—what?"

"Here we go again," Bartimaeus sang.

"Rebecca, please calm—"

"Oh, this is just fantastic!" Piper got up from the armchair as if burnt, putting as much distance between herself and the two of them as possible. She began pacing the room again, waving her hands about as she hiss-screamed. "So now we have an unbound djinni among us to do as he pleases? What in the name of all things good and sacred do you think will happen? That he'll simply obey?"

Kitty shrugged. "He said he'd do it."

"As a favour," Bartimaeus added.

Mouth still making incoherent sounds, Piper sat back down and stared ahead. She let out a sharp breath, feeling how suddenly all the tension accumulated on her body started to take its toll. It felt too heavy for her, and the room suffocating. How would she be able to rebuild the city that she loved with everyone working against her?

Good thing for her—or not, depending on when you asked—that the doctor walked in next, putting a stop to her pity party.

Dr Elgar was an energetic, slightly plump woman, with dark skin and a pleasant face, short curly hair framing it. She walked with purpose, often distracted by papers or the clipboard she always seemed to carry around, and spoke while looking people straight in the eye. Hers were dark, big and always kind. Piper would say Dr Elgar was in her forties, but she also knew that doctors always seemed to be 5 to 10 years younger than presumed, so she couldn't be sure, and she wouldn't ask.

"Hello, Ms Piper, Ms Jones." Another thing to know about Dr Elgar was that she insisted on using a person's surname, no matter how many times one protested against it.

"Dr Elgar," Piper greeted back, rubbing her hands on her trousers to get rid of the accumulated sweat as she stood up and extended her hand. Dr Elgar shook hers and then Kitty's.

"Samuel told me that you had brought… a friend." She was looking at Bartimaeus while saying this, and Piper braced herself for the witty comeback, but it never came.

"Actually," Kitty spoke up. "I was the one who brought him. Rebecca and I were discussing if it'd be a good idea to add another member to the team protecting John."

Piper noticed—and not for the first time—how Kitty seemed to be the only one who used Mandrake's first name. Everyone else she knew (including herself) either called him Mandrake or Mr Mandrake. Sometimes even 'sir' when directly speaking to him. The only people who addressed him by his first chosen name were the late Council members, most notably Ms Jane Farrar. It made her wonder if she should too.

"Are you worried the team won't provide sufficient security?" Dr Elgar's eyebrows were furrowed in concern.

Piper spoke before Kitty could. "Both of us work long hours and have other responsibilities. This is both a way to ensure Mr Mandrake is safe and comfortable, and that he sees a friendly face when he wakes up."

Dr Elgar's eyebrows shot up. Kitty's too, but Piper ignored the look. "I see. How interesting." She turned to Bartimaeus in time to see him transform from the small elephant into his familiar Egyptian boy guise. "And does your friend have a name?"

"He does," Bartimaeus replied, "but I supposed you'd like the short answer?"

"Whatever suits you best."

Kitty gave Bartimaeus a warning look.

"Bartimaeus, then. That's how Kitty here refers to me, and how your patient used to."

Piper felt a sudden cold sensation take over her body. She pushed it down. Now wasn't the time to be dramatic over chosen words.

"Bartimaeus," Dr Elgar echoed, reaching a hand to shake Bartimaeus's, which he took after a moment of astonished hesitation. "An interesting name. And were you there when Mr Mandrake was injured?"

"All the way," Bartimaeus replied with a scoff. Piper reined in her wince.

"Good. Then maybe you could answer some of my questions regarding the injuries caused by magic."

"Naturally."

"In addition to a physical injury on his shoulder caused by a sharp object, Mr Mandrake was subjected to short-term exposure to—it seems—a particularly strong Pestilence, causing numerous blisters on his skin, especially on unclothed, exposed parts, such as his face, neck and hands. Can you confirm it was a Pestilence?"

"That's what he believed it was. And from the look of things, I'd agree."

"Very well." Dr Elgar checked something off on her clipboard. "Now, the injury on his side… Could you tell me what caused it?"

"A Detonation, short-range. But it was rapid fire, so the intensity was comparatively low. It didn't just brush his side, though. It was a half-hit of sorts."

Dr Elgar scribbled away, muttering "interesting" here and there, and nodding as Bartimaeus talked.

"Dr Elgar," Piper interrupted, "does this change anything?"

"Well, it helps to know exactly what happened so we can tailor a more specific treatment for Mr Mandrake. Magical wounds are tricky, because patients very rarely survive magical attacks. There was this case, about three years ago, of a boy who'd been hit by a Black Tumbler and survived, but was left with burns all over his body. Fascinating case."

Kitty gasped. Piper glanced at her, but Kitty had recomposed herself.

"This boy's treatment was relatively simple compared to Mr Mandrake's, seeing as many people have used the Black Tumbler as a punishment." Dr Elgar made a face. "I've never treated someone who survived a Detonation, and it makes me wonder…"

"What?" Kitty prompted.

Dr Elgar looked at Bartimaeus for a long moment.

"I put up a Shield, but the Detonation shattered it," the djinni offered.

"That'd help lower the intensity, but… No, that can't be it." The three of them waited as Dr Elgar looked over her notes once again, lips pursed, brow furrowed. She drummed her pen between her thumb and index finger as her eyes scanned the page. "This peculiarity keeps showing up on his test results. It's very odd."

Piper didn't like the sound of that, but she had to ask. "And what is the peculiarity?"

"Well, according to the tests, Mr Mandrake's side wound had started healing from the inside before we found him. This appeared on the first tests, but we believed it to be some sort of malfunction with our equipment, a mistake, or a document mix up. But every time we've examined him, the test results come back the same: the tissue and bone had started repairing by the time he got to the hospital. But the process was interrupted somehow."

Piper was barely listening. Her eyes were locked on Bartimaeus, who'd plopped down cross-legged on the chair nearest Nathaniel. Kitty too couldn't stop staring. Dr Elgar continued her mumbling, stopping only to correct herself here and there. She didn't seem to register that the three of them had stopped listening. In fact, it seemed she didn't remember they were there at all.

Piper shook her head to get out of her stupor. "Magically, you mean?"

Dr Elgar blinked, probably not immediately registering that Piper had asked her a question. "The wound healing? Could only be magical if it was that fast."

Piper looked at Bartimaeus again, but the question didn't come. It was too absurd.

Kitty didn't seem to think so. "Did you do that?"

"Nope," he promptly replied.

Well, that was unexpected. The way Bartimaeus was behaving, Piper was jumping to the conclusion that he'd been the one to try and save Nathaniel, maybe even erect that alleged Shield Kitty had described.

"At least, not intentionally."

That made more sense. At least to Piper.

"How could you have done it unintentionally?" Dr Elgar asked.

Bartimaeus, Kitty, and Piper shared equally reluctant looks. Eventually, they let Kitty explain in broad terms what had happened, and they'd watched as Dr Elgar's eyes grew bigger and bigger with wonder.

" _Fascinating_ ," she breathed. "But that certainly accounts for so much. Why didn't you say something earlier?"

"Well, we didn't know that it'd make a difference," Piper said. And then, with a voice laced with hope she hadn't felt in weeks: " _Does_ it make a difference? Will you be able to heal him now?"

Dr Elgar's surprised face melted away and morphed into a pitying expression Piper didn't like at all. "Even if we have new information on how to treat his wound, the treatment would be experimental at best. Like I said, humans don't usually survive magical attacks, and Mr Mandrake doesn't seem to showcase a physical resilience to magic. Unfortunately, he has anaemia, due to heavy blood loss. We've been treating it as best as possible, but as you might expect, our resources are limited at the moment."

"I'll donate," Kitty blurted out. "I'm healthy."

Piper winced when Dr Elgar took Kitty's hand in hers and gently patted it. "Donations _are_ appreciated, but not by people who've been in dire need of recovery themselves."

"I'll do it," Piper said. "Even if it's not compatible. It might help someone else, keep the cycle going, I suppose."

Dr Elgar nodded gratefully and let go of Kitty, who'd shrunk a little into herself and away from them. "That is very kind of you, Ms Piper. But anaemia is only one of the problems. He entered cardiac arrest minutes after we found him, and was then diagnosed with a pulmonary edema, which could have either been caused by the heart failure or the impact of the attack."

"But I thought you said he'd begun healing when you found him."

"Indeed. That's how his stomach and pancreas weren't involved in any further complications. We had to perform emergency surgery on him, and by all accounts, it seems a bit of a miracle that Mr Mandrake's alive at all. He's comatose, and we're not quite sure why. His brain doesn't show any abnormal activity. None that we can identify, at least. Due to Mr Mandrake's unconventional circumstances prior to the coma, magic could have something to do with it. However, he hasn't reacted poorly to the experience of sharing a mind and a body with Bartimaeus, so it shouldn't be harming him."

Piper felt those words settle on her shoulders. Just like lead. Just like before.

"Is there something we _can_ do?" Kitty asked.

Dr Elgar glanced at Bartimaeus, who had barely moved from his spot on the chair and had busied himself with ignoring them since he'd sat there.

"Maybe."

Piper let out a long exhale. "Tell us."

"As you know, I specialise in wounds caused by magic. It's an extremely lacking field, but I've managed to devise an experimental treatment for localised wounds. There's no guarantee it'll work," she added, before either Piper or Kitty could say anything. "And I need the assistance of a spirit, preferably a willing one."

"Don't look at me," Bartimaeus finally said. "Experimental treatments aren't something I do."

"Oh, come _on_ , Bartimaeus," Kitty pleaded. "I'm sure it won't hurt you. Right?" This she directed at Dr Elgar, who nodded. "See?"

Bartimaeus snorted. "She'd say anything to get to do her little experiment and then have it be revolutionary and win her a bunch of prizes. Been there, done that."

"But it's… _John_."

Piper had heard enough. "Bartimaeus, you _will_ do as the doctor says."

Bartimaeus gave her a dismissive glance. "Being Prime Minister doesn't give you the power to lord over all spirits. In case you haven't noticed, _Rebecca_ , Kitty summoned me, not you."

Piper felt her cheeks starting to flame in anger. "So?"

" _So_ , you can't overrule a summons." He flashed her a winning smile.

"That's not true."

Bartimaeus shrugged. "Knock yourself out."

"It doesn't matter. Kitty can dismiss you, and I'll summon you back if I have to."

Bartimaeus sighed like he'd been rendered exhausted again.

"Piper, that isn't the way," Kitty said, voice tight and eyes angry. "It's his choice. I won't dismiss Bartimaeus to have you torment him like that. He's been through enough."

Bartimaeus perked up at that. "Thank you, Kitty. You always were my favourite."

"Not so fast. You're also being obtuse. If Dr Elgar says it won't harm you, I don't see how that's a problem. And I'll supervise. One peep from you and you're out. What do you say?"

"Not like I have a choice. If you don't make me do it, _she_ will."

"I've just told you I won't let that happen."

Bartimaeus shrugged again, angrily, indignantly. "I won't just get into something without knowing what it is."

"Come on, you know me better than that." Kitty sighed in frustration. "I want to hear all about this treatment first. If either you or I think it'll hurt you in any way, then we just won't do it. Or we'll stop if we're in the middle of it and you're not comfortable. But I think we owe it to him to at least try, don't you?"

Bartimaeus and Kitty looked at each other for a minute—Bartimaeus warily, Kitty pleadingly. It was the ultimate battle of wills.

"Fine," Bartimaeus said through gritted teeth.

Kitty's eyes immediately lost all their hostility. "Really?"

Bartimaeus rolled his eyes. "Yes."

Piper could barely disguise her surprise. But Dr Elgar, who'd quietly and patiently been watching the three of them go at it, took the opportunity to clear her throat and reassert herself in the conversation.

"I'm glad we're agreed. Ms Piper, we'll need formal authorisation, so I need you to come with me in a few moments to fill some paperwork. If things remain stable, we may start tomorrow."

"Wonderful," Piper said.

"However," the doctor drawled, keeping her voice even and assertive, "nothing has worked so far. This is a long shot, and I need all of you to be prepared for the worst."

Piper tried to get ready for the final blow, to pre-soften it by sheer will.

"I'd advise you start getting ready for the possibility that he won't make it."


	4. the murmur of the land

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I did say I sucked at regular updates… Sorry. But, this one's big AF, so maybe that'll make up for it. ;)  
> Many thanks for the love, and today I'm handing some extra special love to anjumstar for the multiple rounds of questions and debating various points with me. I know she prefers cookies to cake, but she still deserves love, guys. (I'm kidding. We shouldn't let such prejudices divide us.)

_Bartimaeus_

The rubble had all been cleared away, the fires doused, but the grass still shone with glass.

The Glass Palace stood no more. In its place was a darkened circle of infertile dirt. The air remained hostile, carrying the smell of sulphur, ash, and death. Human eyes wouldn’t catch the slow swirling of colourful particles in the air, lifting off the ground and disappearing into the sky. But humans kept well away from the epicentre of the explosion, as did most spirits. A few bigger spots of light floated about within the perimeter of destruction.

The wind brought rumours of a big statue in white marble–a magician standing tall against the dangerous foes, yielding a powerful wooden staff and risking his precious life to save the world from eradication.

How noble.

Perched atop a half-burnt London plane, a small crow surveyed the scene on all seven planes, simultaneously attempting to scratch an itch just over its beak. (1) Reluctantly, the crow opened its wings and began its descent to the dirt. There the characteristic smell of magic was stronger—thick with energy, as if a power plant had exploded right in the epicentre of this sad scenery and electrified the air. It was slightly suffocating.

(1) I feel like we’ve come full circle with this guise, so your human minds may relax and get back to what matters: the pleasure of reading my story.

The crow jumped around on its pencil-thin legs, head down, apparently plucking tiny seeds from the ground. It stayed away from a circle faintly drawn on the ground. The fiery squids that had gathered around the outer line of destruction drifted about impassively. They sighed in longing, their cores pulsing in a coloured mirroring of the airborne particles. (2)

(2) Will-o'-the-wisps may be some of the most insignificant creatures on the universe (and ranked right over humans to boot), but their primal instincts are quite interesting, especially at night. That is, if you’re into observing them go about their lives.

A Shield had been cast here, there was no doubt about that. With that much energy still spinning around in the air a month after, and the will-o’-the-wisps lingering about, it had been a potent one. That did indeed explain how the brat had survived an entire palace _and_ Nouda falling on him. My theory wasn’t proving to be so unbelievable and impossible after all.

The skies shifted. The last rays of sunlight shied away behind grey clouds that accumulated into a dense, looming mass. A low rumble sounded far away. The squids began to move more restlessly. Some looked for shelter in or on trees. The condensation levels told me all I needed to know.

The crow was gone just before the first drop of rain hit the ground.

* * *

It’d been three eternities and a half since this keeping guard nonsense started. Kitty came back every day as promised, usually with Piper in tow, who seemed to be trying to carry all the paper left in London by herself. And you know me, I’m not one to judge another’s hobbies, but I don’t think Mother Nature would have liked to commune with Piper past this point. Maybe Mother Nature would curse Piper with horrible tea leaves for all eternity, or maybe even get in some poisoned ones in the batch if she was considered a major threat. (3)

(3) Look, all I’m saying is that you shouldn’t play with forces whose powers you do not fully comprehend, like Mother Nature, myself, and tea leaves.

Dr Elgar came by every day as well, taking notes and animatedly chatting with me about an array of topics, including baby onesies (4), colour schemes, and how music can influence the brain’s development. I’d noticed a possible baby bump, and immediately placed a bet with Nathaniel on who was going to notice it first—Kitty or Piper. I voted Kitty, of course, and he had no other choice but to put his figurative money on Piper.

(4) Yes, I’m positively drowning in excitement.

He’d been keeping quiet, which I guessed was to be expected, since he was in a coma. (5) But I could have used a chatting chum to spend the hours, even one as dreadful at it as he is. Even more so, perhaps, for the advantage of making fun of him and actually getting him riled up in the process. Good old days.

(5) There _is_ some good news for him in this: the more he sleeps, the less you can tell he frowns for a hobby. Who could guess that all you needed to do to get rid of wrinkles is getting knocked out by a great, murderous spirit? No, Sleeping Beauty doesn’t count. She was an afrit in disguise, ate everyone who dared to approach and enjoyed taking kips. Needless to say, there wasn’t a happily ever after for that prince. But I digress.

Obviously, Dr Elgar’s attempts at engaging me in conversation had the single goal of softening me up. For one thing, to get me to collaborate on her ridiculous experiment again. For another, to weaken the blow, I supposed. She seemed to think I cared, no matter how often I corrected her. When Kitty and/or Piper were present, she pulled out her medical terminology card and played it like she wanted to knock everyone unconscious by the sheer force of her wisdom. Most of the time it worked—Kitty and Piper would get too lost in the words to actually read (or listen) between the lines. They were thrown off the scent, but maybe they let themselves be. Apparently, humans are sometimes willing to be fooled in order not to have to deal with harsh reality.

Nonetheless, it was hardly my role to call any of them out on it.

Meanwhile, I’d grown used to the machines beeping, and to his even, weak breathing. Sometimes I’d catch myself watching his thin chest move up and down, and if this doesn’t tell you how insanely bored I was, I don’t know what would. Either way, he was still alive, and annoying me on a whole new level, bless him.

London remained eerily quiet these days. People refused to come out unless strictly necessary and became jittery at the simple mention of “demons”. But that could also be because of this incessant rain. It’d barely stopped in the last three days.

Piper was always thrilled to announce that goods have been coming in from nearby cities, and some European ones have already started to become solidary to the cause. She kept whispering to Kitty about country representatives coming by, seeming to think they simply want to do their duty by the great city of London, heart of the British Empire in all its glorious stupidity (and worse, cruelty). However, I’d wager that if any of those fancy representatives came, it’d be to gauge the level of destruction and their odds of giving London the last nudge towards obliteration. Kitty didn’t seem thrilled about the idea of having them around either, but Piper hardly let her get a word in edgewise about the matter.

Either way, the fact was that I was trapped sitting on an armchair watching over the person who would probably have a better solution or at least have acted proactively by now, much as I was loath to say so. But he hadn’t stirred once, and his breathing kept getting shallower every day. I wouldn’t keep my hopes up, but I hadn’t told either of the girls this. Piper seemed to have put so many of her hopes on him that I feared she’d implode. As for Kitty… well, she was trying to keep up morale, so I wouldn’t want to rain on her parade. There’s hardly anything fun about teasing something when they’re doing some genuine good.

Sometimes I wondered when I’d become such a softie too.

My eyes wandered back to him. Such a frail little thing, in a body I couldn’t help but marvel at when we’d been one in the same. It’d been like living inside a well-oiled machine, but something had felt too sacred for it to be akin to one. A human-sized temple for a soul. An entire universe encapsulated within. It’d been the strangest thing to witness how frailty could be so strong.

As usual, my eyes eventually found and locked on his side. It was covered by the light blue blanket and his pyjamas, but I could picture it. Underneath it all, there was wilted skin, darkened by fiery magic. It was coiled in, pulled from his belly and back like dough from the stitches. There were purple and yellow spots all around it from the constant prodding. Dr Elgar had said those would have healed by now if he were healthy, but he wasn’t, and they kept having to touch the wound because of exams, and for checking and cleaning the stitches. She’d also said they would have normally removed them by now, but the magical residues were complicating things.

“The stitches keep melting away,” Dr Elgar had told me on the first day of ‘the treatment’, as she’d trashed another pair of single-use gloves.

“So why haven’t you invented stronger ones? It’s been a month.” The Egyptian boy had been sitting on the opposite side, beating his bent legs like butterfly wings.

Dr Elgar had given me a look as if I’d said a particularly bad joke, but in my humble opinion that’s just a ridiculous notion. “It isn’t that simple.”

A shrug and a sigh later—each coming from different parties—Dr Elgar had beckoned me over and indicated for me to look at his side.

“That’s some shoddy work, doc. Are you sure you’re at the top of your field?”

A huff. “Not my work, but I’m inclined to agree with you. What do you see?”

“A lot of skin?”

“Of course, but what about the magic?”

“Oh.” Squinting did nothing for improving a perfect being’s vision, but squinted I had. “It’s faint, but it is there.”

“Yes, that much I’d figured with the stitches continually disintegrating.”

“If you want a good answer, you have to ask a good question.”

“Touché.”

Dr Elgar had produced a pencil from a pocket and shown it to me with a raised brow, prompting me to watch. With it, she’d gently prodded Nathaniel’s injured side. The smell of burnt wood had instantly reached my nostrils, even though she’d left the pencil there for a second.

“Isn’t it remarkable?”

“Not really. You should have been at Hyde Park before the palace went down. Burnt wood was the most coveted _eau de parfum._ And it was free. A true bargain.”

“I meant the way the magic reacted.”

“Oh. Well, that _is_ interesting. Never seen anything quite like it.”

“I was hoping otherwise.”

“Well, I have nothing. Besides, should you be using an instrument filled with germs to touch his side? And how did you even stitch him up?”

“We used iron and silver equipment, obviously.”

“Fair point. Now what?”

I was startled out of my reverie by approaching steps on the other side of the door. I could tell it was Kitty—she always stomped her way about, no matter where she was. Kitty stopped right in front of the door to chat with who could only be Sam about any updates he might have.

I easily relaxed back into the armchair, stealing another glance Nathaniel’s way before she came in. It was hard not to stare at the only other living thing in the room when it was hooked to machines and still dripping with spent magic. I felt an odd pull to position myself by his injured side, which I ignored.

Whenever I spent time with Kitty these days, I barely knew what to say. It was easier before, when impending death wasn’t hanging on everyone’s shoulders. It was easier before, when I hadn’t experienced the complexity of a human’s mind and the emotions that came with it. (6) It would have been easier if I hadn’t known what losing a loved one felt like.

(6) I vehemently blamed Nathaniel for this, and found myself wishing he would wake up so I could force him to take his memories and thoughts back.

Now don’t get me wrong—I’m not saying Kitty loves Nathaniel. How would I know? It was highly likely they’d end up dating, at least for a while, but at the moment I didn’t believe that’s what was driving her. She’d said something about him not having anyone else, so I supposed duty was her motivation. Whatever the case, there were a lot of emotions hanging in the air, which I wasn’t comfortable with. There were only so many friendly pats on her shoulder I could muster.

Kitty was someone dear to me, who’d attempted the impossible and who’d have my eternal loyalty because of it. But I’d paid my debt to her when I’d merged with Nathaniel. So, there was no good reason why I should have let her talk me into this situation, but here we were. It was partly because of Ptolemy’s ideals, which I’d never believed in myself, but which were also hard to ignore after having another human take the risk to visit the Other Place to prove themselves. And, like I said, harder still when you take a trip inside a human’s brain. (7)

(7) Never thought I’d see the day, but I was disgusted with myself. If Farquarl, Nouda and the rest of the gang really believed that by helping the humans I’d committed treason, I could only imagine how much worse this would be regarded.

Sam finally told Kitty he would notify Dr Elgar that she’d arrived and was ready for the treatment to begin. Kitty didn’t come in straight away, prolonging her standing by the door to listen to some unconvincing attempts at irritation by the two foliots in the walls. She eventually told them to bugger off and came in. Her face was pinched, and she was panting a little, but her eyes looked bright with fresh determination.

“Well, don’t you look awful,” I quipped with a wide grin.

“Hello yourself, Bartimaeus,” she greeted sarcastically, and immediately shifted her focus towards the machines and the occupant in bed. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s been awfully quiet.”

Kitty gave me a look that bordered on an exhausted glare. Then she dragged herself towards the armchair I was sitting on, totally minding my business, and waved me away so she could sit on it herself. Youngsters these days. There was no respecting their elders anymore.

“Everything is falling apart, Bartimaeus,” she moaned.

I fought the urge the roll my eyes. Yeah, let’s talk about _her_ problems. “Honestly, Kitty, for all your pride in your intelligence, sometimes it should surprise you how thick you can be. Wasn’t this your main goal?”

She frowned, digits pressed against her closed lids and head dramatically thrown back. Finally, she groaned and uttered, “Not like this.”

“Not when you would have to stay and face the consequences?”

Kitty’s frown deepened. “Whose side are you on?”

“Mine, as always. Whose side are _you_ on?”

“Ours!” she exclaimed, staring up at me as if I’d just asked the most ridiculous thing. “Aren’t we supposed to be a team? Wasn’t that the whole point of me visiting you?”

I shrugged and leaned against the window. It was cold and vibrated from the magic placed just outside. The rain drummed steadily against it.

“Maybe I’d have a bit more sympathy for your problems if I weren’t trapped babysitting.”

She narrowed her eyes at me a little, craning her neck to see me better. “I didn’t force you to be here. I asked for a favour.”

“There’s no shame in getting a pair of glasses, you know. With your looks, people won’t question it. Just don’t show them your ID.”

“You said I looked better!”

“You do.”

Kitty let out a frustrated sigh. “We’re getting off-track.” She pressed her fingers to her eyes again. Someone really should tell her that’s a fine way of getting an infection, especially in a hospital. “I know this isn’t easy, believe me. I’ve been here every day for the past month. Hospitals have an uncanny ability to drain your energy.”

“That they do.” I gave her another look, a wave of sympathy hitting me right in my core. I rolled my eyes and gave her a friendly punch to the shoulder.

“Ow,” she whined into her hands. “Don’t hit a frail old lady.”

I scoffed. “That’d only work if I didn’t know you.”

Kitty turned her head to me again and grinned a little. It was half-hearted, tired, but I’d take what I could get. I smiled back.

“You know, you keep whining, but it isn’t true that you’re trapped. You could’ve left already.”

I clicked my tongue. “Sure, and have Piper summon me the next second to do the same. I’ll pass. At least you don’t know the proper words for punishments.”

“Not true. I flicked your essence once.”

I grimaced at the memory. “Number one, that’s barely a punishment, so my point still stands. Number two, you ought not to remind me of that, what with not being inside a pentacle and all.”

“You wouldn’t hurt me.” She sounded confident.

“No?”

“No. We’re friends.”

I snorted. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“Obviously, you silly,” she said softly. “I’d like that very much.”

“Huh. I’ll think about it.”

“Just remember I could always go and study up on those punishments.”

I shook my head. “Frail old lady my metaphorical ass.”

Kitty giggled.

We remained in silence for a bit, listening to the machines beeping, watching the windows cry. I considered the jar of one-day-old red poppies on Nathaniel’s nightstand for a few seconds, deciding I didn’t know nor cared enough about flowers to ascertain their meaning.

Kitty was the first to break the silence. “I know you’re weak, but I’m not asking you to go about shooting spells. Just to stay and help. It hasn’t seemed to bother you that much.”

I wasn’t that tired, actually. Not much, anyway. Itchy? Absolutely. In pain? A little. But the exhaustion that had weighed on me for the latter years in Nathaniel’s service had evaporated the moment he and I had shared his body. I’d first told her I was tired to get her off my back, and part of me had expected the exhaustion to return shortly after. However, the surge of energy I’d felt when Nathaniel and I’d merged had been so great, its effects hadn’t worn off.

Regardless, I wasn’t about to tell her that. Not yet. Who knew what she’d suggest I do next. Maybe something ridiculous, like curing cancer.

“I asked, and you stayed,” she continued. “I didn’t force you, and I didn’t let Piper force you. And since then, I’ve been by your side in every session, and you haven’t complained once. Not about being in pain, anyway. You _were_ the pain.”

“Such injury I must bear.” I shook my head in deep regret. “But I suppose a human wouldn’t distinguish between annoyance and admiration if it hit them in the face. Jealousy is a part of both.”

“You’re right, I do feel both. Annoyance at your never-ending complaining, and admiration at your never-ending complaining.” Her voice had been taken over by laughter by the time she’d finished.

“Yes, hysterical,” I grumbled. “I’m so tempted to throw myself out the window by sheer mirth.”

Kitty continued laughing for a little, not at all perturbed that I hadn’t joined in. (8) After a bit, she wiped the tears from her eyes and gave me what could be perceived as a rueful smile. If you squinted, that was.

(8) Some simply lack manners. I, a model for propriety, would never be caught laughing at a superior being’s expense. Definitely not to their face.

“You want to be here,” she said at last, eyes locked with mine and zero hesitation in her voice. Not even a magician could have topped that.

I was too flabbergasted to conjure enough sarcasm and derision for an answer. This simply had come out of nowhere; the topic had been dropped minutes ago! Trust humans to be socially stunted.

I shook myself out of it in order to come up with a smart, effective reply: “Huh?”

“Well, you heard me.” Kitty crossed her arms and looked back at Nathaniel. Maybe she’d hoped he’d wake up to complain about the ruckus we were making. And I stole a glance, because honestly, that was far from being farfetched. “I don’t know what exactly is keeping you here, Bartimaeus, but it certainly isn’t me, and it certainly isn’t London’s charms.”

“I’m here because you asked me for a favour,” I said slowly, hoping that this way the words might sink inside her thick skull. “And because Piper would force me to otherwise. All things considered, I’d rather do _you_ a favour than be ordered about by the Prime Minister.”

“Maybe at the beginning that was true,” she conceded, nodding and standing up from the armchair, all signs of previous laughter erased from her face. “But then you decided to stay for another day, and another, _and_ another. Besides, you could have gone anywhere. As long as you didn’t go back to the Other Place, Piper wouldn’t find you.”

I opened and closed my mouth for a few seconds, before frowning and saying, “Like I said: doing you a favour. God knows you’re one wrong step away from breaking a bone and not being able to so much as walk here.”

The corner of her mouth twitched at that. “Is that so? Well, I thought a big, bad djinni wouldn’t take orders from a frail old lady who can’t even draw a proper pentacle.”

* * *

Dr Elgar found us about a half-hour later, each of us busy with introspection. Now listen, I won’t even address Kitty’s preposterous accusations. It’s nothing but a waste of precious time, and I’ve been doing a lot of that already.

Pleasantries were exchanged as usual. And—again as usual—Dr Elgar went straight to business: “So, shall we begin?”

Kitty nodded and stood up, but I was already sitting beside Nathaniel, so I didn’t move.

“Any news?” Kitty asked.

“Not quite yet, no,” Dr Elgar answered. Then, in a softer tone: “Remember that it could take a while for the treatment to work.”

“ _If_ it works,” I grumbled under my breath.

They both ignored me in favour of going over the usual caboodle: how was Kitty feeling? Was she sure she didn’t need a prescription? Was she sure they couldn’t take a closer look at her condition? All these questions did nothing to convince me Dr Elgar wasn’t just using me and Nathaniel to advance her career, but Kitty either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

I looked back at Nathaniel, counting his breaths per minute, noticing a few more minute scars on his face and neck. He had a big one on his shoulder now, of course, but that had been due to a proper cut at the Mercenary’s hands and not the Pestilence. For the first time, I noticed a tiny scar cutting the corner of his left eyebrow, causing a small asymmetry issue I was sure he’d frown about.

His scars were the only white thing on his face. It looked like a child had randomly used a white pencil all over it but had been too bored to be thorough. On the other hand, yellow and purple really weren’t his colours, but his face was regrettably so painted. (9)

(9) Two days ago, I suggested a few slaps to introduce some red to his cheeks and maybe even wake him up, but no one took me seriously. When I went to act on it, Piper’s head nearly exploded.

“Bartimaeus, are you ready?” Kitty asked me. Dr Elgar was also looking at me, pen hovering over her clipboard to write down the ‘time of commencement’.

I shrugged to showcase my lack of enthusiasm.

The pen scratched the paper for a few seconds, and then Dr Elgar was indicating for Kitty to sit down. She did so across from me. I stared at her over Nathaniel’s chest and she gave me an encouraging smile. I rolled my eyes in fake exasperation.

Dr Elgar busied herself with taking the machines’ readings and preparing a set of iron and silver equipment. My essence reacted immediately—I jumped a little to the side. She took the hint and put more distance between me and the set. She’d never used any in front of me. Usually she took blood from his finger for fast analysis. She’d told me they’d tried to take blood from his side to see if the magic was affecting that section in a specific way, but nothing conclusive had come up. The tissue samples hadn’t helped a lot either, except with diagnosing exposure to the Pestilence, and another magical attack. Like just looking at him wouldn’t be enough. Humans.

I watched her lift the blanket and pull up the pyjama top a little. My eyes landed on the wound again. The first time they’d widened a little, but now my expression remained blank. I could feel Kitty’s gaze on me. So far, she’d never seen the wound. Dr Elgar had said it was hospital policy, and that I was the exception because I needed to see in order to work. Kitty thought that was a bunch of baloney, but hadn’t disobeyed yet.

In all honesty, I’m not required to do much. Besides, true to her word, Dr Elgar hadn’t asked me to do anything involving any pain. It was uncomfortable and more than a little humiliating for sure, but not harmful to my essence.

Dr Elgar brushed her hands together vigorously, and the stench of alcohol rode right up my nostrils. I pushed the air out with a forceful exhale, but the smell remained. I gave her an indignant look. She barely noticed me.

“Whenever you’re ready, Bartimaeus.”

I huffed. Damn right I’d do it when I was ready.

See, this was the hard part—the critical part. I was performing magic I had never attempted before, and while in theory it was possible, it still required deep concentration.

Detonations, Infernos, and all the other fun stuff spirits could perform had been crystallised by our combined years of servitude. I barely remembered a time when those spells hadn’t been available to me. But magic itself was nothing but a set of intentions. Magicians needed to verbalise theirs most of the time because they weren’t magical themselves. But spirits—especially those of the finer standing, like yours truly—needed nothing more than to make that intention a reality.

Granted that most of the time we performed magic it was either for guises, defence or confrontations, but the possibilities were nearly endless. Dr Elgar seemed to be counting on this. She was watching me like a hawk.

I ignored her, focusing my attention on Nathaniel’s side instead. When I felt ready, I reached up a hand. The familiar jolt of electricity ran from my fingertips to my shoulder—the magic within him was trying to push me away. It wasn’t strong enough, and it didn’t hurt me. This had happened every time we’d attempted ‘the treatment’. At first, the magic on his side tried to discourage my touch for the first few seconds. Funnily enough, it always ended up settling around me, as if it recognised me.

The longer I hovered my hand over his skin, the further the magic reached. My ears buzzed with it, the hair on my arm began to stand. I clicked my tongue when Ptomely’s chin started to prickle, and then touched the wound.

The skin was rough and flaky, more than a little warm from both the magic and the inflammation, I’d wager. However, the most interesting aspect was always the way the magic behaved. Presently the small stinging and static electricity had dissipated and been replaced by a warm, velvety sensation stretching from my fingertips to my hair to my toes. (10)

(10) Not enough of a description for you? Well, picture putting your hand inside a bowl of warm, melted chocolate. Then imagine you’re diving in. That’s how it feels. Not that any of the instances I’d been thrown into hot chocolate were happy, voluntary ones. But you humans seem to have an inexplicable fondness for it.

I heard Kitty move a little in her chair, but I didn’t look up. In fact, to avoid temptation completely, I closed my eyes. The Egyptian boy’s bony fingers trailed the stitches absentmindedly. They were more liquid than solid at that point, and my intrusion wasn’t helping. Regardless, Dr Elgar had expected that, so I didn’t pay it much mind.

Instead, I pushed.

This was the embarrassing and humiliating part. See, at first Dr Elgar had asked me to get rid of the magic on his side. (11) I’d drawn on it as told, but against all odds, it began healing me instead. I was activating it, yes, but the more I did it, the paler Nathaniel became.

(11) I know what you’re thinking: why didn’t you use the Amulet of Samarkand? Of course we’d thought of that, and tried it, but it didn’t work. I had an inkling it had to do with the fact that it was protected by his body. Dr Elgar believed likewise.

So, we were changing tactics. Now I was trying to activate it from within. Dr Elgar had never attempted that, but that was probably because neither of her patients had been struck by defensive magic. She had made what spirits she had available suck out the magic to ensure a rapid recovery. Because magic was alien to a human’s body, having it around wouldn’t do them any good. Or so she claimed.

Nathaniel’s case was the exception, for obvious reasons. So, as I tried to connect with the magic within him, I added some of my own. The idea was for the process to be complete; in other words, I was trying to resume the healing that had been interrupted. Now this sounded simpler and easier than it was, but healing humans had never been our objective. I didn’t know a single spirit who’d attempted it, although I knew a few who had wanted to. Maybe the circumstances were the only thing allowing us the opportunity to try, or maybe there really was a possibility that we could help in general.

I wasn’t sure I was a fan. As far as I could see, this would only serve as a way to further enslave us. Regardless, I tried. For Kitty. For the promise of going home soon after.

Faintly, I could feel Nathaniel’s pulse quicken at the surge of energy, so I pushed further. I allowed my magic to be drawn in. The magic within him took it hungrily, but strangely I didn’t feel robbed of mine. It was like they were intertwining, rekindling. Nathaniel gave a sigh, and I felt how his skin expanded and withdrew over his lungs. I pushed further still, properly encouraged.

However, just when we were getting somewhere, the door was thrown open. I had been so focused on healing Nathaniel that I’d forgot about my whereabouts for a while.

“Sam!” Kitty exclaimed, alarmed. She was the only one facing the door. “What brings you here?”

Sam himself looked quite stressed and didn’t reply with his usual friendly greeting. He came in, barely acknowledging Kitty and I, and locked an anxious gaze with Dr Elgar. Two others came in—foliots—but I didn’t remove my attention from the task at hand. Who knew what would happen if I pulled away too soon?

“Is something wrong?” Kitty asked.

Sam ignored her for a bit as he pulled Dr Elgar aside and talked to her in hushed whispers. I was too focused on Nathaniel to pay proper attention to them, but some words stood out: attack, fatality, security. Meanwhile, the foliots shuffled around the room, combing it from side to side. I growled at them when they got too close to Kitty and the bed, and they scurried away.

“Bartimaeus, that’s alright. You can stop now.” Dr Elgar was back at my side, scribbling notes on her clipboard. She was staring at the readings on the machines rather than at me.

I obeyed, gently withdrawing my magic. A pale blue mist uncurled from my fingers. Some of it came with me. I felt it settle in my essence—a foreign but familiar presence. Nathaniel didn’t move nor produce any sound that would hint at his discomfort.

Sam moved to stand beside Kitty, intently watching Nathaniel as well. When it seemed apparent that he wouldn’t be waking up and telling us all to give him some privacy, Sam sighed and turned to us.

“A patient was attacked a few minutes ago,” he started, causing Kitty to stand up. “We did everything we could, but… the patient didn’t make it.”

“What? Just like that? How could they get into the hospital like that? I thought you had good security—"

“Yes, I know,” Sam interrupted, putting his fingers on the bridge of his nose and pressing, eyes closed, jaw tense. He started pacing about, lost in thought and, presumably, anxiety as well. But he did speak shortly afterwards. “It was a hybrid. Our systems are absolutely defenceless against that.”

My eyes widened against my will, and then moved back to Nathaniel, lying in bed, monitored, quite defenceless himself. Kitty seemed to be having similar thoughts.

“Do you think they meant to find John instead?”

“I can’t say. No one knew he was here. But…”

“You’ve been too obvious,” I said. “You and Piper coming here every day is highly suspicious, even if she’s claiming you are both volunteering. No one believes magicians are that kind.”

“Well, _I_ am not a magician.”

“No, but Bartimaeus is right,” Dr Elgar said. “And if I’m remembering correctly, spirits can feel other spirits’ auras and magic, can’t they?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Then it really wouldn’t be difficult to piece together that at least _a_ magician is here, and since most of the dead and the living are accounted for, this hybrid must have come looking for those who aren’t accounted for.”

“But why not single out the living ones first?”

Sam, who had been staring off into space, suddenly blinked back to Earth. “But they are being singled out. Some, at least. Like Piper, when she was attacked three days ago.”

“ _What_?” Kitty demanded.

“I thought you knew,” Sam muttered. Then he cleared his throat. “At any rate, we must come up with a solution. I came to make sure Mr Mandrake was alright.”

“Why did _you_ come instead of security?” I asked.

Sam appeared to struggle for a moment. In fact, he seemed downright reluctant to elaborate on his story. Dr Elgar also gave him a curious look.

“Samuel?” she prompted, but still he was mute.

“I was doing my rounds when I heard sounds of struggling coming from inside a room.” His eyes were haunted as he retold this.

“There was another magician here, wasn’t there?” I guessed. It was a long shot. Most magicians _had_ been accounted for, as Dr Elgar had said, but not all. Nat had been declared dead for the sole purpose of avoiding these kinds of situations. At least that’s what Piper claimed.

Sam’s eyes jumped up to mine, partially alarmed, but also partially relieved. I supposed I did unburden him from having to divulge that part of the information. Maybe he wasn’t meant to share it, but was having trouble withholding it with the way Kitty and Dr Elgar were on his case. Speaking of the doctor, she didn’t seem as thrilled to instigate a response from Sam now that she knew what was going on.

I spared him. “Is the hybrid still in hospital grounds?”

“It’s gone. Left through the window when I walked in. It blew a hole in the nexuses like they were nothing,” he said, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth in a tight line. “We’ve contacted security and they’re scanning the area, but it’ll be useless. I’ve also sent for Piper. She should be here shortly.”

“Wait. How do you know it was a hybrid and not just anyone else?” Kitty asked.

“It had wings.”

“How the hell did _wings_ escape your notice?” she cried. It was utterly baffling, I agree. If anything, it just goes to show how humans’ observation skills are comparable to a carp’s.

Sam raised his voice a little. “It didn’t have wings when it came in.” My comment about observation still stands, mind you. “It probably used magic to hide them.” Still standing, I say.

“Do you have spirits looking for it?”

“Yes, but I don’t know if we’ll get anywhere now. The only true advantage we have is that the surveillance cameras caught it. We’ll make everyone in this hospital memorise that face and we’ll stay alert.”

“That won’t work,” I said. “A little Glamour and you’re all waving them in and offering them tea. Honestly, if this hybrid can hide wings, don’t you think it could also change its appearance?”

“Maybe. But you can’t exactly use Glamour on a camera, and security would be alerted to its presence straight away.”

I shook my head. “It would be too late by the time they acted. And really, what do you expect human security will be able to do against a hybrid? Become a snack?”

“Like I said, we have spirits as well.”

“Incompetent ones, clearly.”

“All the more reason for you to be here, Bartimaeus,” Kitty cut in at last.

I blistered, annoyed that she’d used this situation to further her agenda. I was about to tell her so when I heard urgent footsteps approaching from the hallway. I immediately shifted to my gargoyle form, wings spreading wide and knocking Dr Elgar a little to the side, claws sharp and ready. Kitty and Sam tensed up when they saw me change, and turned their eyes to the door, waiting.

Two seconds later, a dishevelled Piper burst the door open and rushed inside, past all our stunned expressions, and stopped only by the bed. She let out a relieved sigh and turned away with her hands in her hair after checking that Nathaniel was indeed breathing. All of our stances relaxed with her melodramatic display.

“Jesus Christ, Rebecca,” Kitty chastised, “we thought you were the hybrid!”

Sam had moved to Dr Elgar’s side to help her up. Once the doctor was steady on her feet, Piper thanked Sam for warning her. Apparently, the meeting was ending when the imp had arrived with the message. From then on, it’d been a matter of getting in the car and speeding through nearly deserted streets. That had barely taken them five minutes. Not altogether bad for humans.

“Who was targeted?” Piper asked in her business voice. She probably thought she sounded commanding.

Sam refused to meet her eyes.

“Were there fatalities?” Piper insisted.

“Just the one,” Sam muttered.

“Who was it?”

Again Sam said nothing. Piper stomped her foot on the floor like a child.

“Do I need to remind you who’s asking you this question?” Piper demanded, surprising everyone in the room. Many things she was, but Piper had never directly lorded her power over anyone in the room, as far as I could tell. Well, anyone but little old me, but we all know how magicians are.

Sam sighed like he’d lived a hundred years of servitude. I should know. I could write books on the topic.

We were all looking at him expectantly.

“Jane Farrar.”


	5. all your love in an old record pile

_Nathaniel_

He didn’t know how he’d got there.

The dunes were endless, the sun harsh and bright, right at its zenith. Rare was the wind, absent the water. His feet burned with every step he took, even as he buried them underneath the sand in hopes of protecting them from the upper layers.

He pushed on.

Sweat dripped from parts of his body he didn’t know could actually produce sweat, sticky hair and clothes clinging to him. He had stopped crying what felt like a thousand kilometres ago. He wet his chapped lips in vain, swallowed some more saliva to lubricate his parched throat. The only momentarily relief ensued when he stuck his tongue behind his upper lip. But it never lasted.

There was a castle on the horizon, high-walled and yellow-bricked. It blurred at the edges, but he chalked it up to the sweat burning his eyes. So his feet dragged him there. He couldn’t stop moving. If he did, who knew when he’d move again? He had to get to the castle.

He staggered, head fuzzy and his left side a ball of fiery pain. He’d stopped wondering why and how a long time ago. In slow movements, without ever stopping walking, he removed his shirt and tied it around his head, relief washing over him if only for a few seconds. He sighed into it, shoulders sagging down and eyes closing, feet always trudging on.

When he opened them again, the castle seemed to be approaching. He let out a quiet laughter full of self-derision; now he had started hallucinating. Diverting his gaze to the bright blue skies above, he felt the back of his neck give a small, satisfying crack. And then he was falling to the ground. Falling, falling, falling. An abyss swallowed him, his horrified scream and all. He felt the pressure of the air on his back, his arms and legs outstretched to grab onto something—anything. But he just fell into the unrelenting darkness.

And then someone gently pulled his wrist.

“Rekhyt, if you were going to space out like that, I would have asked someone else to walk me to the market.”

The voice was playful, lilted with laughter, and oddly familiar. He blinked two, three times to clear away the cobwebs in his eyes, then squinted at the afternoon sun glaring right back at him. He averted his eyes to the boy in front of him, and couldn’t help the surprised gasp that left him. Because standing before him, patiently smiling and curiously watching him, was Bartimaeus in his favourite guise of an Egyptian boy. He was wearing nothing but his trusty loincloth, hair slightly tousled by the gentle wind and skin shining under the same harsh sun he had been under for the past eternity.

Except this couldn’t be Bartimaeus. There was something off about the way this boy carried himself. He looked down at the hand holding his wrist, noticing that his skin was darker than he expected, and immediately shot his gaze up towards the boy’s again.

“Are you alright, Rekhyt?” the boy asked, his smile disappearing in favour of a slight frown. “If you want to go back—”

“Go back?” he heard himself say, only to find that the voice also startled him. It belonged to… Bartimaeus?

It was his turn to frown. Was _his_ name really Rekhyt? He couldn’t really remember, but somehow it didn’t seem to fit. But why was he so sure that Bartimaeus was the one standing before him? Who _was_ Bartimaeus, anyway? And why did that name fire a cacophony of bells ringing in recognition?

The boy came closer, now clearly worried. “Are you in pain? Should I send you back to the Other Place for a bit?”

He blinked stupidly. “What?”

“That’s the name you use the most—the Other Place. Your home, remember?” The boy’s face was even closer now, examining his, probably in search of invisible signals of his pain. The headache that had finally begun to dissipate came back to haunt him.

“I’m fine,” he said stiffly, taking a few steps back to regain some much-needed personal space. “I’m just dizzy from the sun, that’s all.”

The boy laughed at him merrily. He frowned back, but that didn’t seem to have any effect at all. “Rekhyt, you are a being of fire and air. Of all entities, _you_ couldn’t possibly get dizzy from the sun! Maybe you’ve been having too many roasted imps while I’m not looking.”

He grimaced. A being of fire and air? So, a spirit? It surprised him to know this much when he couldn’t remember his own name. Rekhyt was a being of fire and air, like Bartimaeus. Suddenly something connected in his mind: Rekhyt was one of Bartimaeus’s old names.

But the boy was calling _him_ Rekhyt. If Rekhyt and Bartimaeus were the same being, did this mean he was them? Was he suffering from some sort of personality disorder? Could spirits go through such a thing?

He looked around. They were standing in the middle of a market by the quay, long-bearded merchants loudly negotiating prices with equally loud customers from low, shoddy stalls. The summer air circled his feet, carried cries from seagulls and terns, the smell of fish and spices. Colourful fruits, vegetables and legumes were stacked and spilling over from plaited baskets. There were dates, figs and raisins aplenty, strange-looking cucumbers, bright green lettuce and scallions, fragrant garlic, the odd melon. From smaller baskets sprouted peas, beans, and lentils, set in an appealing rainbow. From even smaller wooden boxes wafted the smells of various spices.

There was something about buying anchovy bread on the back of his mind, so he instinctively turned around and found a small tent with rows of differently sized and shaped bread. There was beer as well, but it didn’t look as liquid as it should. That thought doubly surprised him, for he didn’t understand why he knew that strange substance was beer, nor why it looked strange to him, if he was a spirit living in that era.

Language was another surprising matter. He reckoned he’d been speaking Ancient Greek thus far, but why would he think of it as _ancient_? Why did it feel like all his thoughts had to be translated?

Flashes of another time passed before his eyes—a boy and a girl, precise lines on irregular floors, a dusty attic with a sloping ceiling, two smiling women, a fire, marble statues, a round table with seven extravagant chairs. A crushing loneliness.

He deeply inhaled to clear his mind. The boy was staring at him again. The eyes were all wrong, he decided, surprising himself yet again. Bartimaeus’s eyes were deeper, nearly bottomless, unnervingly otherworldly. The boy in front of him had the kindest and wisest pair he’d ever seen.

There were so many questions floating around in his brain that he didn’t notice the bull until it was nearly too late. Children screaming was what alerted him to it. They were trying to get away from the bull, but their sudden movements must have enraged it. Its eyes zoned in on a girl; she fell.

The Egyptian boy pointed. For the briefest moment, he felt his body draw upon some hidden power and then expel it. Meters away, the bull hit an invisible wall and tumbled to the ground.

A small crowd of gasping merchants and passers-by surrounded them not long after, while attendants took the bull back to its field. There were whispers of wonder, some of fear. No one came too close, but the circle around them thickened with each passing minute. At last someone broke out from the crowd—the girl who’d nearly been headbutted to oblivion—and thanked the boy. They conversed for a while, inquiring about each other’s welfare, and he found it cumbersome and tiresome.

That was, until the name Ptolemaeus was uttered.

His head began reeling again. Certainly not _the_ Ptolemaeus of Alexandria? Said Ptolemaeus looked at him over his shoulder and nodded his thanks. His head automatically bowed to accept the recognition of a well-done task.

 _Oh, you won’t have to follow_ me. _Quite the reverse. When I’m ready I’ll be following_ you _._

He lifted his head with a start, but the scene before him had changed.

He found himself in some sort of private chambers. Sitting cross-legged by a glassless window was a frail-looking person. The body was too small to belong to an adult, but the hair was too grey to be a child’s. As he approached and the features became clearer, he realised that he’d been watching the same boy from before. Ptolemaeus—so be it—no longer had dark hair and young skin. He was thinner—his legs looked especially bony—the lines around his eyes and mouth were harsh. Three prominent waves were delineated on his forehead. Ptolemaeus’s fingers were hidden under a tome resting in his lap, but he knew how they looked.

_I’m showing him how he was. Before he changed._

The thought came from nowhere and left just as fast as it’d come. Was it another memory he’d lost? He felt something sink within at the realisation that Ptolemaeus had changed this much in the little time he’d known him, but it couldn’t be a heart. If he truly were a spirit, he wouldn’t have one, would he? If he were a spirit, would he know what a heart _felt_ like?

Ptolemaeus’s eyes were lost on the sunset, the book ignored for the moment. It came to him how this was a rare sight, because the boy—if he were truly still a boy—would generally be found nose-deep in a book, ignoring everyone until the reading was completed, notes galore and plenty of questions on the tip of his tongue.

He shook his head, somewhat stunned. He couldn’t know these things about this boy he’d never met before.

“Ra is going back to the underworld, Rekhyt.”

He furrowed his eyebrows at the mythological reference, but he decided to play along. “So it would seem.”

“But he’s angry.”

He thought for a moment of what to say to this, and then decided to go with, “Care to elaborate on that theory?”

There was a flicker of a smile on Ptolemaeus’s lips. “The sky is blood red.”

“Well, it _is_ a sunset—”

“Apep has challenged Ra for yet another battle, and this one is tainting the skies blood red. Don’t you think that means something?”

He fumbled for a reply. His knowledge of Egyptian mythology didn’t seem to be very deep, but he at least knew that Ptolemaeus was referring to the ancient rivalry between the evil serpent Apep and the sun god Ra. Or one of the sun gods; he’d never been able to work that out, it seemed. Maybe he’d never cared enough to. Besides, this sounded so out of character for Ptolemaeus. He frowned at mythology almost as much as he frowned at weapons.

Nonetheless, the boy was speaking in riddles, seemingly reading more into the situation than reason allowed.

“Well, Ra has always prevailed in the end. I see no reason for it to be any different this time around,” he supplied at last.

“Maybe he’s tired after all this unnecessary fighting,” Ptolemaeus muttered. Somehow it struck him that this boy should only ever be mumbling to himself about scientific advances and formulae for new pentacles. Ptolemaeus looked sad—defeated even—and that made his insides clench in anguish.

“Being a god is no easy feat these days,” he tried, and then frowned. What sort of cheering up was this? It reminded him of someone he knew—to suck at cheering up, that was. Was it Bartimaeus? The girl who sometimes popped in his mind? His head was aching again at the effort. His side flared up suddenly.

No, it was best not to think about it too hard. He sat down, cross-legged, minding his throbbing side and facing Ptolemaeus. The boy surveyed him closely as he did.

But then Ptolemaeus’s lips twitched upwards. “Are you trying to cheer me up, Rekhyt?”

He shrugged noncommittally. “I can’t do a proper job if I don’t know what’s really bothering you.”

“I thought you to be a little more perceptive,” Ptolemaeus teased good-naturedly.

Ptolemaeus was referring to the prince, of course. A particular memory related to the prince called to him, but he couldn’t quite decipher it. Ptolemaeus had been the angriest he’d ever seen him. Never once had he imagined the frail boy would have nearly doubled in size just by his change in posture and attitude. He’d made the taller prince cower. Just to protect him.

 _Then I must_ tell _you. You will leave him alone._

“I want you to tell them about my pentacle, Rekhyt.” Something had shifted in Ptolemaeus’s eyes as he spoke.

He blinked. “I’m sorry, you want me to do what exactly?”

“Share my pentacle with the world. You’re not bound by time as I am. I can’t reach important magicians or teach new ones,” Ptolemaeus explained, eyes shifting to the setting sun once more, the light dimming in both. “I want this nonsensical slavery to end. You’re not ours to command, just as we aren’t yours to eat. This pentacle is a way to end it. The sooner we begin, the faster results will come.”

Both sat there very still for a few minutes, eyes locked, as if they were having a telepathic conversation. There was a swirl of emotion, images almost too fast to catch—a king, a prince, assassins, war, an unconventional trip.

He tried to hold on to one of them— _any_ of them, but they all scattered far away. Maybe he was just suffering from amnesia. Could djinn suffer from amnesia? He could hear Bartimaeus scoff at the thought in the back of his mind, and found himself surprised again.

But the pentacle Ptolemaeus was talking about— _that_ at least was tangible. Idealistic. Revolutionary. It seemed to be the most bittersweet set of memories populating his mind, but access wasn’t altogether granted. However, he knew how it worked, what it meant. It was the most beautiful, selfless act of love and respect.

_If we remain ignorant, and continue to enslave you rather than understand you, trouble will come from it sooner than later. That’s my feeling._

The next words came out of him without his permission: “Not everyone is like you, you know? Only a few will be open to the idea of changing our centuries-old relationship.”

“Well, Rekhyt, human beings are incredibly versatile—”

“And volatile,” he heard himself grumble, felt his eyebrows clenching together into a frown.

“True,” Ptolemaeus acquiesced. “But I dare say there’s hope for us yet. If you would be willing to take part in it.”

“I won’t become some sort of demented god for your people, Ptolemaeus, much as I love you.”

The Egyptian boy’s eyes suddenly lost all distance and worry, becoming soft and open in mere seconds. “And I love you as well, Bartimaeus, but that is beside the point I’m trying to make.”

The use of his true name surprised him. He felt his mind splitting, a wall beginning to crumble.

But he wouldn’t’ stop speaking, saying words that weren’t truly his own. “No need to make it sound all corny, Ptolemaeus. I am merely stating the facts.”

“You were getting sentimental, nonetheless. Should I be worried?”

The teasing was back. He would have tried to delve deeper into this, but he couldn’t. Focusing on the conversation happening through him was proving enough of a task.

Ptolemaeus reached out a hand and squeezed Bartimaeus’s gently. “I’m counting on you, my dearest friend.”

He felt himself nod once, before the sun glowed for one last second and the world went dark.

When light graced his eyes again, he was running for his life on all fours. There was a steady weight on his back, nestled right between his wings. Four paws hit the dirty, narrow streets, never faltering, never slowing.

The city had barely woken up. The full moon still hung over their heads, and some more stubborn stars had stayed back to watch, but the sky was cloudless and blue. Which meant they were exposed. There was salt in the air, mixed with the spices and the smell of bread from the market. He could still hear the hullabaloo of conversation they’d left behind, the sudden gasps and panicked scattering right before the Roman spirits pounced on them.

Ptolemaeus panted and whimpered right behind his ears, but they couldn’t stop. The boy’s blood had started seeping onto his fur minutes ago, mixing with the substance leaking from his wing, and they should stop and take a look, but there wasn’t a good enough place. There were too many doors, too many windows. He couldn’t Seal all of them.

At the sudden sound of yet another Detonation, he jumped away, hissing and flapping his good wing desperately to lessen the impact of the landing so he didn’t hurt Ptolemaeus. His side burned with the effort. Affa, Penrenutet and Teti had all given their lives for Ptolemaeus’s, so this was not the moment to be feeling weak. However, the path kept getting narrower and narrower, and with it their chances. He kept his wings close to the boy, to act as a secondary shield to the one he’d thrown about them.

Another set of Detonations hit, missing them by millimetres. And then he saw it—an old bronze door nearly consumed by mould. In half a second, he had jumped to the wall for support and turned around. With a mighty roar, he unleashed one Hurricane, sending it whirling down the narrow street and right at the creatures tailing them.

He didn’t stay to watch. Rather, he turned again and shoved open the door. It screeched in protest, drowning out Ptolemaeus’s groan at the impact. He closed it with a kick and placed a Seal on it for extra security just as the spirits outside reached it. It wouldn’t detain them for long, but they just needed a quick breather. Just a minute. Then they’d go. He’d run to the end of the world if he had to.

The air was damp and cold inside, for there were no windows. A forgotten god’s temple—the perfect hideout. After casting a Wisp-light to dimly illuminate the inside of the temple, enveloping the room in a pink light, he put down the boy as gently as possible next to the farthest wall from the door. Ptolemaeus was panting and steadily bleeding, drenching his clothes. His wrinkled face was pale.

Leather wings thudded rhythmically against the door. There was shuffling all around the temple. The Roman spirits would find a way in soon, and he’d willingly die defending this boy.

Ptolemaeus tried to sit up. “Steady,” he heard himself say. “Save your strength.”

“I don’t need to, Bartimaeus. Not anymore.”

Ptolemaeus had used his real name. Except it wasn’t his own. He knew by now that this was a memory. He was trapped inside Bartimaeus’s memories of this boy the djinni had loved, but he didn’t know how or why. He didn’t remember how this had come to be, or who he was, for that matter. Maybe he was dead. Maybe Bartimaeus had finally made good on his promise and put an end to him, swallowing his identity in the process.

“None of that talk,” Bartimaeus growled. His side had been throbbing incessantly, but now that they’d finally stopped, it seemed to double in intensity. “This is called tactics. We’re having a rest. I’ll break us out of here in a minute.”

_What’s the matter with you?_

Ptolemaeus coughed up blood. “To be honest, I don’t think I could take another of your flights.”

_Never… never flown before._

There was more to this conversation, but he could barely pay attention. His head was hurting so much, he feared it’d explode. It was like two different memories were trying to overlap, but the result was a mess of images and dialogue. There was a bit about never using manes again, another about waiting for the right moment to strike as not to harm the people inside—inside _what?_ And what people?—and then Ptolemaeus getting upset about dropping his notes on the Other Place back in the market.

The movement around them never ceased—claws and scales dragging against the stone threateningly, whisperings in Latin and quiet giggles. From a faraway place came roars of laughter, humans moving strangely. A dome of glass and iron. A girl cast in mystical light.

“Ptolemy, it doesn’t matter,” Bartimaeus was saying.

“But it does! This was going to make things different. It was going to change the way magicians worked. It was going to end your slavery.”

_Bartimaeus… You’ve been a good servant._

A sudden weariness overtook him. But a strong resolution burned within. This was a goodbye—the last goodbye. No one had ever told him how words fell short in these situations.

“Let’s be frank. My slavery—and my life—are going to end in… oh, approximately two minutes.”

_Well, um, you’ve been just dandy too._

Ptolemy frowned, making the wrinkles more prominent. “Not so, Bartimaeus.”

Maybe if he didn’t make it sad, it wouldn’t need to be. After all, he’d had most of his life to feel sad. This was the time to be sure, to be bold and let him go, once and for all.

_I didn’t say you were perfect…_

“Yes so.”

_What?_

“I can’t get out, but _you_ can.”

_Far from it. Let’s face it, you’ve generally managed to cock things up._

“With _this_ wing? You must be—Ah… I see. Not a chance.”

_WHAT? The bloody cheek!_

Bartimaeus’s anger and indignation were like a balm to his sorrow. There was the spark he needed to finish the mission.

“I’m technically your master, don’t forget. I say you can go. I say you _will_ go.”

_Which is why I’m dismissing you right now._

Bartimaeus rose and let out a terrifying roar of defiance. The temple shook, and activity halted outside, but just for a few seconds. Bartimaeus and Ptolemaeus negotiated this point a bit more, but he knew there was no getting out of this. Not with both alive, anyway. He’d known it for a while. And all the while Bartimaeus’s thoughts swarmed with not having the freedom to make his choice even in such a moment.

“Don’t ask again. I’m not shifting.”

_Don’t take it the wrong way… It’s just that… we’ve got to break the Staff at the right moment here. You’re bound to mess it up somehow. Best thing is… best thing is to dismiss you._

“Oh, I won’t _ask_ , Nathaniel.”

It was like Ptolemaeus’s kind, wise eyes had seen right through him. The boy was grinning lopsidedly at Bartimaeus, or himself— _Nathaniel was his name_ —one hand raised, trembling from the effort.

He could picture the Egyptian boy in their first meeting, younger and golden, always asking questions: _What is essence? Your substance? What is it? How does it work? And the Other Place. Tell me of it. Is time there synchronous with ours? Are your powers rooted in Earth’s elements as well? Or are they simply derived from your home?_

Bartimaeus was already moving towards him, but his side throbbed with white-hot pain.

Ptolemaeus snapped his fingers, spoke the Dismissal words in seven ragged breaths. As the door exploded and chaos broke in, Nathaniel felt a strange pull in his stomach. Bartimaeus desperately fought to remain physical, mentally begging the Other Place not to take him. Ptolemaeus gave them a small salute, then rested his head gently back against the wall, regal and golden still. Fading. 

The next thing he knew, they were being dragged away, back to the darkness. For a moment, he wondered if he was back in the hole that had dragged him down to Ptolemaeus, but his body felt oddly ethereal. Nathaniel—yes, he remembered now; that was his name—couldn’t tell where his body began and where it ended anymore. Distant images flashed before his eyes, of empires falling and rising, cold imprisonment, slavery and rape, of buildings being built by bleary-eyed beings.

_It’s two thousand, one hundred and twenty-nine years since Ptolemy died. He was fourteen. Eight world empires have risen up and fallen away since that day, and I still carry his face._

Voices came to him from afar, whispering, hissing his true name. It was akin to being on trial before a great council. Bartimaeus’s voice was the loudest. But this dull throbbing he couldn’t place distracted him. Nathaniel didn’t understand if his heartbreak was making him hurt, or if this physical pain was a separate affair.

 _Who do_ you _think is the lucky one?_

There was a verdict: relief. Surely, he was dying, for his side wasn’t hurting as badly as it had. He opened his eyes to see four great barriers around him, extending in all visible directions, pulling at him. He knew they represented the elements—earth, water, air, and fire—but he shouldn’t have known, because Nathaniel had never been to this place.

_It’s not impossible. It’s just not done._

Suddenly the barriers receded, and he plummeted down again, through the castle’s ruins and frozen humanoid creatures. The whispering never ceased; it came from every direction, enveloping him in a bulb of both madness and relief. Faceless creatures watched him from the darkness. He kept falling, so he couldn’t make out a single one, but they exuded power. It made his extremities seem blurrier.

 _I rather think he knew anyway_ , someone close-by whispered. It sounded like a repetition, but as with most things, he couldn’t place it.

 _He knows, he knows_ , the others chorused.

Nathaniel had no idea what they were talking about.

And then, when he’d convinced himself that this was it—that he’d fall forever—he stopped. The multiple voices were reduced to four or five, he couldn’t be certain. What he could be certain of, however, was that some of them were familiar. So, Nathaniel pushed forward, curious, tired of the darkness, swatting it away like fine curtains.

Very slowly, an unfocused white claimed his vision. He blinked two, three times to clear the cobwebs from his eyes, but they refused to go. He felt sluggish, heavy, so much so that the effort to move his head seemed to leave him spent. But he was also alarmingly numb, so it took him a while to mentally register that he was whole again, no more a million fragments swirling about in an odd darkness that seemed to suck him in every time.

And then there he was again. The Egyptian boy—Ptolemaeus, his name was, _the_ Ptolemaeus of Alexandria, of all things—blinking down at him, an amused expression on his face. Nathaniel frowned because something was definitely off about this. He couldn’t feel anything—his body was completely numb; his side had officially stopped throbbing. His voice didn’t seem to want to leave him, hiding inside his chest as if from a real, physical threat. Nathaniel blinked some more and tried to move at least his eyes around a bit, but everything became blurry when he did. The Egyptian boy disappeared from his line of vision, and Nathaniel could feel an itch at the back of his head trying to claim his attention. But he had more important matters at hand, namely regaining his senses fully.

A wave of cold gradually ascended from within, and Nathaniel felt his body shudder in reaction, seemingly unable to stop. Someone yelled something about blankets, followed by a rush of feet. Nathaniel mentally thanked that person. Now there were busy bodies all around him, and Nathaniel allowed confusion to firmly sink in as he searched for the Egyptian boy again. Because he needed to protect him, of course. He’d promised he would.

The boy returned to his side, an amused expression plastered on his face. There was someone behind him, a silver-haired woman. _Kitty_. He wanted to smile, but his lips refused to cooperate. Nathaniel returned his gaze to the boy. He’d moved closer. As sensation slowly returned to him, he could feel a small pressure on his side, and it alerted him more, just enough to fully make out what the boy said.

“Took you long enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He did really take his sweet long time.  
> Anyway. Hope you're staying safe and not going crazy in quarantine. I'm mostly fine, because my line of work is perfectly suited to working from home, but I'm starting to miss human contact, haha. I do really love hugs, you guys. So I'm sending you some virtual hugs and lots of strength. <3  
> Lastly, but certainly not least, many, many thanks to anjumstar for being always so generous with her time.


	6. shadows come to life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So sorry for the wait. My internship has been destroying my brain and insomnia is trying to befriend me. I shall let neither win. Anyway. I have to say how surprised and genuinely grateful I am that this story has been getting so much love. You're seriously the best, and every review is like a small shock to get my hands moving. You've been stealing some wide grins from these lips.  
> You know who's also the best? Anjumstar. No funny jabs this time. I'm just grateful to have someone like her in my life.  
> Hope you're staying safe! Much love.

_Kitty_

Kitty watched Sam and two other nurses rush into the room, followed by Dr Elgar, who seemed to be struggling with moving as fast as she needed to. Sam had pulled Piper to the side, and she was currently standing frozen by the window as the nurses shouted numbers and incomprehensible words at each other and Dr Elgar ordered them around in a calm, firm voice.

As for Bartimaeus, he was glued to Nathaniel’s side like he hadn’t just denied caring about him in the slightest. He still had his hand on Nathaniel’s wound, even though the magic exchange had stopped already. Kitty knew the situation called for a big emotional response, but she couldn’t help but see the comedy in it. She’d later chalk it up to mental exhaustion and weird psychological responses.

Nathaniel’s eyes were still glazed over, but they were definitely gaining focus, and they seemed to alternate between Bartimaeus and herself. Kitty went for a reassuring smile, hoping to soothe Nathaniel. Waking up to a room full of medical staff couldn’t be anyone’s idea of fun, especially when no one was standing still. She guessed it would be even worse for someone as used to having control over things as Nathaniel was. He didn’t return the gesture; in fact, Nathaniel didn’t react much at all.

Eventually, Sam came to usher the three of them out of the room, and as much as she wanted to protest, she supposed they were getting in the way. Bartimaeus did grumble a bit about humans not being reliable, but Sam either pretended not to hear or was just so used to this sort of abuse by patients’ loved ones that he simply did not notice anymore.

“Trust me, it’s better this way,” he told them before rushing back in and closing the door.

Muffled voices still travelled through the wall, but Kitty couldn’t make out what was being said. It was like her ears were filled with rushing water. Plus, Piper was still clearly taken aback, so Kitty put one reassuring arm around her and made for the waiting area, motioning with her head for Bartimaeus to follow. He did, surprisingly not commenting on it, plopping down on a chair and grabbing a magazine from the pile. He frowned at it and chose another, repeating the process a few times before settling on one.

Kitty sat Piper down by the water cooler and began filling her a cup as she noticed Bartimaeus ripping the magazine apart page by page. She frowned at him, but all he did was give her a bored expression before resuming his antics.

Piper accepted the water in shaky hands, struggling a bit with the coat and the suitcase before placing both on a nearby chair. It really must have been shocking for Piper, having barely come into the room after a day’s work to find Nathaniel finally waking up.

Kitty was barely done with that thought when Piper suddenly broke down in front of her, tears flowing apparently without her noticing it. Kitty, mildly in panic, started slapping her jean pockets until she found a pack of tissues. Piper started when Kitty handed her one, looking confused for a millisecond before touching her own face and proceeding to dab at her overflowing cheeks with the tissue. Kitty had never been happier about her new constant sniffles.

Still, she felt a bit out of her element. She had never been one for comforting words or big speeches, so the best she could come up with was a reassuring hand on Piper’s knee and gently tell her to drink some water and take a few deep breaths.

“He’ll be fine,” Bartimaeus blurted out. Kitty looked at him over her shoulder. Bartimaeus didn’t seem to notice her as he produced a pen and started on a sudoku. All the other magazine’s pages were in small, crumpled balls around him—on the nearby chairs, on the small coffee table, and on the hypoallergenic carpet. One of the balls had even made it to the top of the flowerless plant on the other side of the room.

“Bartimaeus is right,” Kitty said.

Kitty figured Piper’s tears had started as relief that Nathaniel was awake and then moved on to something else. She had never seen Piper this thoroughly defeated before. The meetings had been rough on her, with the commoners’ representatives and magicians alike constantly tearing her apart. The only backup she had was Harold Button. However, he too was distrusted by both magicians and commoners, for not siding completely with either group. Piper had told her all of this three days ago when Piper had taken her home, the news of Jane Farrar’s death weighing on their minds.

Kitty hadn’t known Jane well enough for it to truly affect her, but the very real threat of further attempts on the hospital’s patients’ lives wasn’t lost on her. More so because the spirits they’d sent after the hybrid had come back empty handed, if at all. Bartimaeus was restless, Piper too, and Kitty’s poker face had seen better days.

Bartimaeus grumbled something. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. But Kitty didn’t hear it, so she asked him to repeat.

“I said that he’s so unbearably stubborn that there’s no way he’ll die now. He’s got it ingrained in his little brain that he needs to come back to annoy the living hell out of me and everyone else, so that’s what he’ll do. Once that brat sets his mind to something, stopping him should win you an Olympic medal. I’m surprised there hasn’t been a category invented yet. The Olympics need a little revival, so maybe we should pitch the idea, see what the committee thinks. Maybe that way the world will stop hating London so much.”

Kitty couldn’t help the snort that came out of her mouth. Piper’s face too evolved from a blank, far-off look to a frown and finally to a reluctant grin. Kitty giggled a little, Piper following soon, and Bartimaeus, much as he tried not to, evolved from scoffing to an actual laugh that reverberated a little through the walls.

Kitty, who’d been kneeling in front of Piper despite her protesting joints, fell on her butt as her laughter evolved into an uncontrollable fit, tears prickling at her eyes. Piper was already hugging her stomach with one hand, the other covering her mouth. Kitty could understand why—they were getting curious looks from a few passing nurses and visitors. But Kitty couldn’t care less.

The three of them laughed for a minute or two more, Bartimaeus’s remark ringing true and acting as a beacon of light in the middle of all the drama. Kitty locked eyes with Piper, seeing in the other’s facial expressions how the relief of finally getting to witness the results of their wait wash over like rain.

It was just like looking in a mirror.

* * *

When Dr Elgar came out of the room a couple hours later, the laughter had died down long ago, and Piper’s eyes were dry again, albeit a bit red still. The two nurses who had arrived earlier left in as much haste as they’d gone in, and Kitty was again reminded of the state of things in London at the moment. These poor people were probably running on fumes.

Kitty snapped out of it and followed Bartimaeus and Piper in greeting the doctor by the door. Dr Elgar had a tired, satisfied smile plastered on her face as she greeted them back. She removed her gloves a bit mechanically as Piper and Kitty took turns firing questions. Out the corner of her eye, Kitty could see Sam back in the room, softly talking to Nathaniel as he gently rearranged his pillow and pulled up the bedsheets.

Dr Elgar lifted a hand to stop their incessant questioning. “He’s awake, and stable.” Then, with a genuinely happy grin directed towards Bartimaeus: “The treatment worked.”

Kitty couldn’t exactly say she knew Bartimaeus well. She’d read about him, and not found much to begin with. All things considered, their relationship had been more one of mutual need, and then had developed from there. She’d learned a few things along the way, but most of them had been due to observation and not by being told something directly. But she knew enough to recognise the happy glimmer in his eyes, even as his lips curled into his characteristic self-satisfied smirk and he made a comment about his many accomplishments.

Kitty didn’t care; she was too happy to snort at him or even shake her head in disbelief. In that moment, she could have tackled him into the tightest hug of all. Maybe she would later, have him deal with it as he saw fit. Craning her neck a bit, Kitty tried to meet Piper’s gaze, but it was trained on Elgar. That was just as well; she was clearly happy and relieved too.

“I suppose it would’ve taken us less time if we’d attempted your idea of pushing the magic instead of pulling it sooner,” Dr Elgar continued. “But I believe it’s safe to say that under a week of treatment is a remarkable time, considering the circumstances.”

“It is,” Kitty said, unable to keep quiet for a moment longer. Lack of energy had plagued her so much recently that this news was making her feel more than a little energised. It was like she’d been waiting on Dr Elgar to open the bottle where she kept all her energy, to give her permission to relax. “And we’re so grateful, doctor. To you, to Sam,” she smiled at him as he approached, and he easily smiled back, “to the rest of the team.”

Bartimaeus cleared his throat.

“You _know_ I’m the most grateful to you, so stop that,” she said with a lilt of laughter in her voice. Relief was filling her lungs so much she might not be able to speak normally for a bit.

Bartimaeus gave her an eye roll, but he too was smiling.

“What’s next?” Piper asked. Kitty was mildly surprised that Piper had gone back to the cool and collected demeanour she used for her political endeavours. It was impressive how Piper managed to go through so many emotional reactions in such a short time and still come back to this guarded self. Surely it was exhausting to do it every day. Kitty’s own attempts at controlling her facial expression for three years had left her exhausted at the end of every single day of those years.

“We’ll be closely monitoring Mr Mandrake for the next twenty-four hours, but for now it seems that he’s heading for a full recovery. However,” she stressed before any of them had a chance to express more happy thoughts, “it will take Mr Mandrake a while to get back on track. He’ll need to do some physiotherapy, and to stay on a balanced diet to build some muscle mass. He hasn’t spoken a lot yet, so we do not know the extent of the mental damage he could have sustained, nor if there are any indicators for psychological repercussions.

“This means that he’ll need a lot of patience and support from his loved ones. And under no circumstances should he return to work so soon. It’d also be ideal to keep stressful news to a minimum. He’ll need to get back to his life slowly.”

“But also, don’t treat him like a child,” Sam added. “Understand that he might be very upset about his circumstances, showcase some symptoms of psychological distress, but don’t patronise him. That can be very frustrating and a deterrent to his recovery. The struggles he’ll be facing are very real, even if they may not seem so to you. You all know what he went through, at least to some extent, so try to be empathetic, kind and encouraging as much as possible.”

Dr Elgar nodded along with Sam’s words. “And if at any time you find that he may need the help of a mental health professional, do not hesitate to let us know. We’ll need to collaborate in order to ensure Mr Mandrake’s rapid and effective recovery.”

The three of them nodded in acknowledgement. Even Bartimaeus seemed to recognise the assertiveness in their voices and didn’t try to spice up the moment with his sass. Kitty was glad for it. She knew they were already treading some sort of invisible line with keeping him there.

“What about visits?” Piper asked. “Can we continue as we were?”

“It depends on how he’ll react. Seeing as it’s just the three of you, and knowing you and Ms Jones have your own work schedules, I won’t restrict visitation times. But please keep in mind that Mr Mandrake needs his rest.”

“Maybe I should sit this one out, then,” Bartimaeus commented with a sigh. “Not to state the obvious, but if it is excitement you’re trying to limit, I should be the first to go. After all, I’m the most entertaining out of all of us. I wouldn’t want to give dear John a heart attack.”

Kitty gave him the best deadpan expression she could muster, and even Piper was looking at him bemusedly as he spouted those words. Really, for someone who’d just visibly relaxed upon receiving the happy news, Bartimaeus’s need to separate himself from his feelings for humans was both remarkable and annoying.

“Please ignore him, Dr Elgar. No, actually,” she trailed off, giving Bartimaeus an amused look. Bartimaeus’s own amusement died down in response. “Maybe you could have that mental health professional come by to look at him. This has been 5,000 years in the making.”

She shook her head in deep regret even as Bartimaeus narrowed his eyes at her. Then Sam suggested they all do a therapy session and the spell was broken, returning Bartimaeus and Kitty to the same side of the offensive, both vehemently shaking their heads at the offer.

Piper sighed. “I’m sorry to waste your time like this.” She ignored the indignant sounds Kitty and Bartimaeus made. “Can we see him now?”

“Of course.” Dr Elgar smiled. “Just remember. Keep it calm and quiet.”

With Piper’s assent, the doctor and the nurse were off, which left the three of them awkwardly staring at the room. Kitty shifted her balance from foot to foot, feeling the seconds pressing on her shoulders, her chest, her bones. This had been a month in the making. Longer even. She was more than ready. It was the beginning of something good, she was sure.

But then, Piper, unable to handle the silence any longer, abruptly turned to Bartimaeus with deep resolution in her eyes and a huge frown of concentration. Kitty jumped a little from Bartimaeus’s other side, worried that Piper would curse up a storm and summon a spirit to drag Bartimaeus to the depths of hell now that his task of healing Nathaniel had been completed and there were no witnesses around. She felt Bartimaeus shift a bit backwards too, probably readying to flee.

And then Piper bowed her head a little and rushed out: “I’m sorry for the way I acted last week.”

“Heh?” Bartimaeus eloquently asked.

Piper frowned some more. “I’m sorry for threatening you. That was wrong of me. I’ve… never tried to trust a spirit before. It was ingrained in me not to. I believed you’d try to harm him whenever the chance presented itself, but you did the exact opposite, even after I was so rude to you.”

Bartimaeus looked as gobsmacked as Kitty felt. He hadn’t even attempted to drop his chin to the floor or bug his eyes out their sockets in a show of mock surprise, so this had to be genuine. Kitty smiled at the two of them. This was good. This was _definitely_ the beginning of something good.

“I’m not sure I entirely understand or agree with this method,” Piper continued, “but it’s clear it works for you and Kitty. And I cannot argue with results.” Piper extended her hand to Bartimaeus. “Thank you for bringing him back.”

Kitty saw Bartimaeus hesitantly take Piper’s head and give it a single shake. Kitty smiled some more at the formality of the situation. As Piper broke the contact and nodded at him once more, Kitty reckoned they’d be alright. All four of them. If anyone could do this, it was them.

She was ready.

* * *

Or maybe not.

Kitty didn’t know exactly what she’d been expecting. After all, she’d left the room just a couple hours ago. Nathaniel didn’t speak much, and seemed to be barely listening too. He simply stared straight ahead, lost in thought. He’d smiled a bit at her and Piper, but then Bartimaeus had come in after them, and Nathaniel’s eyes had clouded over.

“So, how are you feeling?” Piper asked. She was sitting on the edge of her chair, on the opposite side of the bed from Kitty. Bartimaeus lingered behind.

Nathaniel’s eyes glimmered faintly in recognition. “Fine,” he croaked.

Kitty automatically reached for the water. Gently lifting the breathing mask with one finger, she directed the straw towards his mouth. Nathaniel took a few pulls, but it was clearly taxing for him. Again, Kitty didn’t know what she’d expected. She’d known there’d been a lot of damage done, but _this_. She’d half expected him to be asking questions, demanding to know where he was and be embarrassed even to be taken care of.

“Thank you,” he said, panting a little to refill his lungs. Kitty put the mask back in place, but held onto the cup. She needed to have her hands busy with something.

“You’re welcome. Do you need anything?”

He shook his head, closed his eyes with a frown. “Dizzy,” he puffed out, like it annoyed him. Kitty nodded. That she’d expected.

She exchanged a look with Bartimaeus, but neither said anything. During the past few days, they’d talked about getting Nathaniel out of the hospital as soon as possible. Kitty knew Bartimaeus couldn’t fight a hybrid in the state he was in. Really, it still surprised her to find him standing guard every day when she came in. Part of her had expected Bartimaeus to have dismissed himself already. If not purely for the purpose of making some sort of standing.

But now, being reminded that Nathaniel still had a long way to go, she didn’t know what they’d do. Obviously the medical staff wouldn’t even consider him stable enough to send home, and she couldn’t condemn that. But he needed to get better _now_. London was in chaos, the council was too busy arguing and Piper lacked the confidence and authority to lead. It wasn’t like Kitty thought Piper couldn’t do it, but Piper definitely thought she couldn’t. That was glaringly obvious.

Unconsciously, Kitty began bouncing her right leg in a frantic rhythm. The more she thought about their possibilities, the more impatient she became. For one thing, staying in the hospital wasn’t just making Nathaniel vulnerable—the other patients were also at risk. Regardless of how much Sam reassured her that the hospital had redoubled their security, Kitty knew it was just for show. What could a bunch of foliots and a couple djinn do against a murderous afrit or a marid? Those magician fools hadn’t summoned lesser spirits into themselves; no, they’d gone for the powerhouses.

Kitty frowned at the thought. It was just like Bartimaeus had stated: the resources the hospital had weren’t enough to identify or deal with hybrids. According to Piper, Nathaniel himself would provide the best security for himself, but that wouldn’t happen any time soon. The fact that no one else knew he was alive also posed a problem. They couldn’t just have magicians send spirits to protect the hospital without raising suspicions. Piper could say whatever she wanted, but Kitty didn’t believe they’d do it for commoners. They’d argue there was already a security department at the hospital and that resources were thin what with the hybrid hunt situation. And Kitty wouldn’t want to pull resources away from that either, since they were fighting the same problem. It just didn’t seem to be working.

She stopped her leg when Piper gave her a curious look, chastising herself for letting her impatience and anxiety bleed out in front of Nathaniel, and right after he’d woken up too.

Piper gave her a half-hearted smile, probably reading her like the open book she was. “It’s okay if you want to go back to sleep,” Piper gently told Nathaniel, smiling brighter when Nathaniel looked at her.

“Bartimaeus is going to stay with you,” Kitty added, determined to participate.

“Is that supposed to make him feel better?” Bartimaeus mocked.

And just like that, something lifted. “Really, that’s not very considerate,” Nathaniel whispered with a ghost of a smile.

Bartimaeus sighed in fake annoyance. “Biting the hand that feeds you, eh?”

The corner of Nathaniel’s lips twitched, but he didn’t reply. He was clearly spent from this small interaction.

Kitty reckoned magic was a funny thing. Bartimaeus had twice used it to wake Nathaniel, although he probably hadn’t realised that this time around.

Kitty smiled to herself. It was alright. More than alright. Nathaniel was tired and a bit out of it, but he was responding well and knew who everyone was. Besides, he’d just woken up from a coma. She needed to remember that. So, this was normal. Yes, completely normal. She punched down her less positive thoughts with as much might as she could muster.

They were going to be fine.

“Well, we have to get going,” Kitty said, standing up. Piper followed her lead, albeit a bit reluctantly. “But we’ll be back tomorrow, okay?”

Nathaniel nodded.

“See you tomorrow,” Piper said with a small, awkward wave.

“See you tomorrow,” Nathaniel said.

Kitty and Bartimaeus shared another look. She smiled when he rolled his eyes.

“See you tomorrow.”

* * *

Kitty huffed and puffed as she moved a sack of potatoes from the lorry to the back door of Edward Norwood’s bakery. Her back had started to ache more than a half-hour ago, painfully reminding her that, despite her thin stature, she still lacked muscle. Edward’s daughter, Melanie, was peeling potatoes in a corner, as her two brothers moved sacks of goods to the pantry and pans around wherever their father ordered them to.

On a portable gas stove, supported by a group of bricks, was a large stockpot, simmering on low heat, steam coming off it and filling the air with the smell of beef stew. Edward’s wife, Hannah, was stirring it and serving a line of hungry people that carried all the way to the corner of the alley, and Kitty felt something pull at her heartstrings.

With renewed vigour, she grabbed the plastic tub with dirty bowls and tableware at Hannah’s feet and headed for the kitchen. She dropped it in the sink, folded her jumper's sleeves and got to work. Kitty made small talk with Melanie as she worked, but her mind took her elsewhere.

Just a few hours earlier, she had argued (again) with Piper about her evening activities. As much as Kitty tried to explain that Edward Norwood wasn’t trying to take her Prime Minister position by talking Kitty into joining his campaign, Piper wouldn’t believe her. Not that Kitty could vouch for him; they weren’t that close. After George had gone out of business, Kitty had been left unemployed. She worked part time at Norwood’s bakery, and volunteered for his soup kitchen as much as she could. Her popularity helped her get goods for free, and Norwood didn’t stick his nose in her business. He even let her do the shifts most convenient for her, although she was certain he hadn’t really needed another pair of hands.

To be fair to Piper, Edward Norwood was popular. The commoners found him relatable, one of them, and he was always humble and polite to the magicians. In all the meetings Kitty had sat in, she hadn’t once witnessed Norwood raise his voice or try to begin conflict. That was not to say he didn’t argue with others, but he kept his head while he did. Unlike some snooty, teenaged prats, like Ronald Kingston. Kitty rolled her eyes. Figures he’d choose a grandiose magician name to go with his annoying personality. Well, Kitty supposed the contrast did wonders for Norwood’s popularity, as did this soup kitchen.

Kitty sighed. There she went, being cynical again. Neither Norwood, nor his family had ever given her reason to believe they weren’t genuine in their efforts. She supposed her life so far had just conditioned her to always expect the worst. Watch everyone around her to know when to dodge the bullet.

Kitty briefly wondered if that was what Piper felt; what Nathaniel had felt throughout his life, and every magician, really. Tough life, she reckoned. For all of them. Yes, even Ronald bloody Kingston.

“You know,” Melanie was saying, “it’s really nice of you to come by and help.”

“Oh, not at all. I’m just sorry I can’t do more.”

“Aren’t we all?”

Kitty sighed. No, not really. Not everyone was keen on helping these poor people. Ronald bloody Kingston certainly wasn’t. Kitty really needed to let the last meeting she’d attended roll off her back, but it kept coming back to annoy her.

“Your father must be exhausted with running the bakery, attending council meetings and still cooking this much food at night.”

“Well, we’re not the only ones doing it. Besides, there’s a lot of baked goods that’d end up in the trash by the end of the day. It’s really sad, when you think about it. Even before this happened, there were a lot of homeless people in London.”

“Yeah,” Kitty muttered. Again something tugged at her heart. She squeezed the sponge and rubbed harder, trying to make the sensation go away. If she scrubbed hard enough, maybe she would feel a tad useful for a change. One month of weary bones at the age of nineteen put things in perspective. “But your father always gave the leftovers to the poor.”

Melanie turned from peeling carrots—she had switched from potatoes ten minutes ago—to look at her. “How did you know?”

Kitty smiled at the dishes. “He’s famous. Besides, he always gave me the best mince pies on Christmas.”

Melanie smiled fondly at her and reached over to squeeze her hand. Then they both laughed because she’d managed to get soap all over it.

“You are all very nice people. No, really,” she insisted, because Melanie was starting to protest. “The world is less shit with people like you in it.”

“You are not so bad yourself, Jones,” Melanie quipped with a wink.

For a while, both returned to their respective tasks, Kitty scrubbing and rinsing, going back outside to exchange clean dishes for dirty ones, and Melanie moving from vegetable to vegetable with practiced ease. The brothers walked around, helping their father, distributing warm tea or feeding some of those who couldn’t eat by themselves. They always seemed to find an extra blanket, an extra jumper, and an extra kind smile. Edward Norwood divided his attention between refilling the stew for his wife and prepping for the next day.

And Kitty knew there were unsung heroes in making this evening possible—like the vegetable donations from small farms on the outskirts of London—but, in that moment, it felt like she was among a superhero family and she was the powerless outsider who tried her best to help. She had to force herself to think that every drop of the ocean counted, but it was hard not to be disheartened by the circumstances.

Melanie had stopped cutting the vegetables a few moments ago, but Kitty hadn’t noticed, automatically going about her chore and lost in her conflicting feelings. With a clench of her hands, Melanie walked over to Kitty and said, “I feel like I should warn you.”

“Warn me?”

“Yes.” Melanie took a moment to fiddle with her dirty apron and looked around to make sure no one was paying them attention. “I didn’t want to say anything to father because he… he always wants to believe the best in people, you know? He’d probably dismiss it. But the rumours are true: there is a new Resistance being formed. I was wondering if—"

“If I had anything to do with it?” Kitty couldn’t keep the biting tone from her voice.

Melanie nodded, again averting her eyes.

“No. Nothing at all.” Kitty didn’t say it, but she was surprised. Not necessarily at the existence of such a group, but at the speed with which it had been formed. That was, _if_ it had been formed only now.

“I see.” Melanie leaned in closer, pretending to pick a sharper knife from Kitty’s row of clean silverware and dry it with a clean cloth. “They asked me to join the other night. I was serving soup like usual, and this middle-aged man told me how my father wouldn’t be able to make a real difference this way. I refused, of course, but he didn’t seem to take it well.”

Kitty quirked her eyebrow at her. She didn’t like where this was headed at all.

“I’m afraid they might come back and try to… you know. But I didn’t want to worry my family, or make it into a bigger deal than it is—"

“Melanie,” Kitty interrupted, “this is precisely when you should worry your family.” Kitty sighed and tightened her hold on the sponge under the bubbly water. She didn’t want Melanie to see how agitated this was making her. “You need to tell them, okay? It’s better to warn them before someone tries to approach them too.”

Melanie reluctantly nodded. “I just didn’t want to bother anyone, you know? We all have so much on our plates already.”

Kitty truly could sympathise. “I know. But we also need to be able to trust each other in times like these. And I’m grateful that you told me. Maybe later you could give someone I know a description of this man?”

“I could try.”

“That’s all I ask.”

* * *

When Kitty finally left the bakery, the clock had long since struck midnight. She walked the irregular streets of London bathed in dim moonlight, biting at the tuna sandwich Melanie had given her. The night’s orchestra reached her ears as she went, with lampposts humming and clicking at irregular intervals, insects helplessly buzzing around the light, her boots splashing on small muddy puddles from the afternoon’s rain. Kitty subconsciously slowed down, grateful for the clear skies. The wind still bit at her cheeks and nose, but she simply finished the sandwich in one large bite and pulled her scarf up.

Noisily chewing, she trashed the napkin and returned her hands to the warm solace of her coat’s pockets. Her head was swimming with the information Melanie had shared. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on her—she’d been part of the original Resistance, and now she was going to try to stop one. Well, not directly stop it. She didn’t know that there was much that she could do besides telling Piper. But should she even do that? Piper already had so much on her plate, and after that meltdown at the hospital, Kitty really didn’t want to add to it.

Before she could decide, a dissonance mixed with the night’s song.

Steps.

Kitty didn’t look back like she was itching to; instead, she picked up the pace, listening for the other’s steps. Her heart jumped to her throat when she heard them match hers in speed. Kitty breathed deep gulps of air to calm her heart. She had a knife in her left boot and the Amulet of Samarkand around her neck, she reminded herself. As if noticing her agitation, the artefact’s pulses started matching her heart’s. Kitty could have laughed.

Kitty turned a corner, taking the chance to look at the figure behind her. She could only make out a black humanoid mass, which wasn’t much help. She turned again, and her stalker did the same. If she turned one last time and they followed, Kitty would be one-hundred percent sure she was the target. They’d be going in a circle.

So, she turned, and they turned. Oh god. _Okay, no, calm down_ , she coached herself. Kitty quickened her steps as much as she could without breaking into a run. She was close to her room; she could see the building already, sandwiched by identical shoddy-looking buildings. _Should_ she go to her room? There were two foliots standing guard at her door, courtesy of Piper, but she didn’t know if they’d be much help. Could she even make it in before getting caught?

Her heart hammering in her chest, Kitty abruptly turned around and grabbed her silver knife in one swift motion. But nothing was there. Her hold on the knife only tightened as she swept the area with her eyes. She could feel the sweat that had accumulated between her shoulder blades uncomfortably drip down her back. Had she been imagining things? Kitty began slowly retreating in the direction of her building, her feet grinding against the gravel the only sound in the night.

“Ms Jones,” a childish voice said just as the lampposts went dark. Kitty jumped around, knife slicing the air in front of her. She panted, body electrified with the need to flee. The figure stood before her, still cloaked in black. She could make out the outline against the light of the moon, but that was it.

“ _What?_ ” she demanded, hoping her voice didn’t sound as frightened as she felt. Noncorporeal voices in the dark really weren’t her cup of tea. She gulped as memories of the night at Westminster Abbey flashed before her eyes.

 _No, concentrate,_ she told herself, shaking her head and widening her stance.

The figure took a step towards her, and she took one back.

“Ms Jones!” Definitely a different voice this time around. Kitty jumped at the call, and the figure turned too. The two foliots were running towards her in the guise of two skinny teenagers.

“Wait!” she warned.

The foliots had fired two Detonations before she could even finish the word. The figure before her jumped smoothly out of the way, higher than a human would. The Detonations were promptly absorbed by the Amulet, but Kitty was too busy watching the figure shrouded in darkness jump from wall to wall to notice the horrified looks on the foliots’ faces.

The foliots’ attention returned to the leaping creature too. Kitty saw their hands gleaming with magic, ready to blast some more in its direction. But if they did that—

“Stop, you idiots!” Kitty shouted. “You’ll hit the houses!”

Guilt quickly washed over her at the insult as the foliots’ very human ears drooped at being chastised. Fortunately, her words reached them in time.

However, when the three of them looked up again to search for the creature, it was already gone.


	7. my memory is cruel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY! The internship situation got so out of control, you have no idea. And then this chapter just wasn't editing itself, so I had to clear some brain space for it. (I feel like an old computer.)  
> On a happier note: some of you requested more Nat and Bart time and little did you know that that was exactly what I had planned. What a happy coincidence.

_Nathaniel_

If given the choice between bed arrest and physiotherapy, Nathaniel would readily opt for the latter. At least when he was stretching he felt slightly productive. The massaging he could do without, even if his shoulders were screaming at him from the tension most of the time. Dr Elgar had told him that was a result of bad posture and weeks in bed, even if they had taken all measures to lessen it. But the point was that he didn’t like strangers touching him, and because some of his muscles clearly resented him, the massages often ended up being anything but pleasant.

“Breathe in,” the therapist told him. Nathaniel focused on her freckled face for a split second before she pressed his left leg a little closer to his chest. He closed his eyes and ground his teeth as the pain shot up his side. “And out.”

Nathaniel opened them again as he exhaled to look around, maybe find something to distract his brain from the pain.

The physiotherapy gym was an open space behind large glass doors. It was located on the lowest floor of the hospital and for the past three days Nathaniel did a physiotherapy session during lunch hours so no one besides the necessary staff was in attendance.

The space looked like a safer version of a gym—at least that was compared to what Nathaniel remembered from his swimming days. The floor had been covered in a type of soft, blue material that presumably served as protection from falls. In front of the mirrored wall stood a line of bicycles, followed by elliptical machines. Three large balls were spread around the room. A rack full of different types of weights had been shoved into the far-left corner. Other equipment Nathaniel didn’t recognise was scattered in pairs around the area, including a slightly elevated platform with two parallel bars.

As Nathaniel underwent his torture, Bartimaeus was bouncing on a bright red ball with a deadpan expression plastered on his face. It almost made him feel better, because only Bartimaeus would manage to pull off a downright bored expression while _bouncing_ on a gym ball, Nathaniel figured. Hidden talents.

“Breathe, Mr Mandrake,” the therapist reminded him. “You’re doing very well.”

In her dreams, he was. Nathaniel bit his lip not to let the words slip through. His pain was manageable most of the time. In fact, when heavily medicated, he barely ever felt anything but a dull throb. However, physiotherapy made his side pound and burn—he could feel his heartbeat there—and his muscles protest at being used so much after so long. And Nathaniel’s mind could hardly hold in the frustration as it was.

No one was telling him anything. Kitty and Piper hadn’t visited him since he’d woken up, despite their promises, and Bartimaeus knew why but refused to tell him. On top of that, he didn’t know what was going on outside of that godforsaken hospital. He was being treated like a baby, and he did not appreciate it. After all, _he_ had saved London. _He_ had risked his life and now was undergoing all this pain as a thanks.

 _As did Bartimaeus,_ his mind reminded him. _As did Kitty_.

Well, _he_ ’d been ready to die for the cause.

 _As was Bartimaeus,_ his mind insisted. _As was Kitty_.

Nathaniel hissed, and the physiotherapist loosened her hold, interpreting it for pain. That was just as well. He inhaled deeply, taking advantage of the break, feeling how his skin stretched and his side protested again. He huffed, deeply irritated with his body. There was already sweat lining his forehead. He could feel it pooling between his shoulder blades as well.

“Let’s move on to the next exercise,” she suggested, helping him shift. Keeping his shoulders still on the floor, she twisted his right leg so it went over his left. She did this slowly and gently, so that his injured side didn’t rub against the floor or his hospital gown. If he stayed in this position long enough, he’d begin to relax, but it always took him a while.

Much to his chagrin, Nathaniel ended up facing Bartimaeus, who was still entertained with the gym ball. He frowned at the sight. Really, every time he looked at Bartimaeus, his head would hurt. Ever since he’d woken up from the coma, he’d spent most of his time wavering between wakefulness and sleep, which didn’t allow for a lot of thinking or soul-searching, but left a lot of time for nightmares and flashbacks.

Moreover, in the moments he was awake, his head felt hazy, like it still needed to lift some sort of veil. He _was_ getting better at pushing out of that state, but mostly his thoughts were still a tangled mess of memories and emotion. They felt like angered lions wanting to get out of an iron cage. Lions and iron. Bartimaeus again.

Nathaniel was supposed to feel lucky and glad—that’s what most of the staff told him, anyway. How amazing was it that he’d survived an entire building collapsing on him, plus a nasty Pestilence _and_ a Detonation! All in a day’s work too. Sam never echoed the sentiment, and so Nathaniel liked him best. Bartimaeus also hadn’t said anything, but you never knew what he was thinking. Well, except when you teamed up in one body to save London.

His head was beginning to hurt again.

“Should we try the other leg?” the therapist suggested. Nathaniel should learn her name, but he honestly couldn’t be bothered. She probably saw him either as a detestable politician or some idealised version of a hero. In the past, he would have loved the attention, but at the moment he could barely keep track of himself without his head splitting in two.

“If we must,” he said. She ignored his tone and went about shifting him again. Nathaniel hissed again when his injured side was twisted to accommodate the position. It burned angrily, and tears prickled his eyes, but he would not cry in front of his therapist, and much less in front of Bartimaeus.

The flare of pain took him back again and reminded Nathaniel that he’d been _truly_ close to dying, that he’d been ready to, so he didn’t know how to feel about this turn of events. The Pestilence and then the Detonation had just about sealed his fate, no matter how hard Bartimaeus had tried to convince him otherwise in front of Kitty. So he’d accepted his fate and decided to do something useful with the time he had left. Nathaniel could see the irony in it now—how his insisting with the Prime Minister that they should use Gladstone’s Staff had nearly brought about his death a second time. By all accounts, he shouldn’t have been this lucky. Bartimaeus probably thought so too.

Speak of the devil—if Nathaniel were truly being honest, Bartimaeus had been part of his decision. It was easier to walk to your death with someone ready to die alongside you. He’d never had that—someone willingly walking beside him towards something utterly unpleasant, to put it mildly. Or someone willingly walking beside him, period.

But then he’d seen a glimpse of a hidden memory and that had hardened his resolve. So he’d done what he should have years ago: he’d dismissed Bartimaeus. After all, it was a logical decision—there was no point in sacrificing two lives when one would suffice. It was enough to have someone walk with you and then watch you go. But Bartimaeus hadn’t taken it that way, of course, and something had happened then. He just couldn’t fully comprehend what, nor did he want to, because it meant reliving it, and he did that plenty already.

Bartimaeus’s memories didn’t help. Nathaniel felt like he’d crossed a line he hadn’t even known was there. It had been one thing to share mind and body for practical purposes, and while he had to ruefully admit that they’d worked quite well together, Nathaniel wouldn’t recommend the experience to anyone. It was another thing completely, however, to dive into Bartimaeus’s most hidden memories. He’d seen— _felt_ —Bartimaeus’s worst memory, and probably the most vulnerable moment in this life. Now it played on loop in his head, all the words and all the emotion, _all the time._ And Nathaniel grieved for someone he had never met and wondered why he should be so lucky when Ptolemy hadn’t been.

There was no helping it either. Bartimaeus always paraded around in Ptolemy’s guise, even now. It was exhausting to have to keep reminding his dulled and confused mind that this was just Bartimaeus— _look, the eyes aren’t the same, the smile isn’t the same_ —and not long dead Ptolemy, and that he hadn’t sworn to protect Ptolemy or the version Bartimaeus presented.

Somewhere along the way, he’d remembered Kitty telling him that Bartimaeus always reverted to Ptolemy’s form, hadn’t he noticed? Nathaniel had noticed—of course he had—but back then he’d chalked it up to Bartimaeus’s asinine methods of trying to bother him, and afterwards he hadn’t really thought about it. That’s what he’d learned for years, after all. Demons would do anything to get you—play the dirtiest tricks, say the most elaborate lies. They weren’t equals.

Nathaniel was still struggling with this. Just like the propaganda he’d helped create had conditioned the commoners’ thinking, so had his judgement been conditioned from a young age. But it had protected him from making mistakes, so he wasn’t ready to let it all go yet, since there was so much he still didn’t understand. Much less for Bartimaeus, who, in spite of everything, was still as aggravating as they came. But something had definitely changed, and he wasn’t sure he liked it.

“That’s it,” the therapist said soothingly as she brought him back to neutral and Nathaniel trapped the air in his lungs so he didn’t groan. Doing this in front of Bartimaeus was enough humiliation, thank you very much. “Should we try some walking so your friend can help?”

“He’s not my friend,” Bartimaeus and Nathaniel said in unison, then frowned at each other.

The therapist fought a smile. “Can you help me get him up?” she asked Bartimaeus, who bounced over on his gym ball. Nathaniel frowned some more as Bartimaeus positioned himself behind him. “Good. Now, put one arm under him and gently lift him up, so he doesn’t have to use his abdominal muscles and trigger his injury.”

Bartimaeus did as he was told, and soon Nathaniel was sitting up and so far not regretting his life decisions. But he reckoned that was only a matter of time with Bartimaeus around.

“Now, Mr Mandrake, feet on the floor, knees curved. Just like we did yesterday. Bartimaeus, keep your arm around his back and another around his knees. You need to work together and remember, Mr Mandrake, don’t clench your abdominal muscles. I know it’s against natural instincts, but yesterday—”

“I know,” he snapped, and watched her close her mouth in stunned silence. Served her right for being a broken record.

Bartimaeus scoffed, so Nathaniel whipped his head around to glare at him too. But all it did was win him a raised eyebrow and make Nathaniel realise how close their faces were.

“Stop squirming,” Bartimaeus said, annoyed. “We don’t have all day, so let’s get you up.”

“Fine.”

So he did. Nathaniel felt weightless for a split second before gravity made his knees buckle. Bartimaeus caught him by the armpits before he face-planted, but Nathaniel had already squeezed his core for support. He cursed under his breath as it exploded with pain and his right shoulder throbbed from being stretched. He knew he was leaning heavily on Bartimaeus, but at the moment all he could see was red. The smell of spices wafted in his nose, soothing him a little, and then unsettling him again when his mind worked out what it meant.

“Easy,” the therapist cooed as she took some of his weight. “Do you want to sit down? We can try again tomorrow.”

Nathaniel shook his head. He wasn’t going to spend another day sitting and lying down without so much as a short walk under his belt. He motioned with his head towards the platform with the bars. It wasn’t far away. He’d walked before. Well, just to go to the bathroom, and with help, but it was still something. He could do this. He just needed to breathe through the pain.

So Nathaniel inhaled deeply, hoping that the oxygen would clear the fog in his brain and energise his muscles. He noticed he had one hand clawed to Bartimaeus’s arm, so he loosened his hold, feeling another dose of embarrassment spread. He moved one leg, then another, slowly, deliberately. As he gained confidence, the therapist let him go, and Nathaniel tried moving faster.

Suddenly pain shot up his side and his vision tunnelled. Bartimaeus caught him as he stumbled forward, moving one arm down to his uninjured side. Nathaniel found himself in an awkward hug of sorts, with both parts equally unwilling to be in it. He desperately tried to get himself vertical again, and with some effort, he managed to.

“Easy does it,” the therapist told him. Nathaniel fought the urge to roll his eyes. He did slow down, however, not wanting a repetition, and soon he was grasping one of the bars. “Excellent, Mr Mandrake,” she said with a smile. “Now, Bartimaeus, stand in front of him and make sure he doesn’t fall. The goal is to have Mr Mandrake’s need to use his hands as support decrease over time.”

That sounded fantastic in theory, but as Nathaniel stood on one end of the platform, his brain deemed walking impossible. He simply didn’t have the strength, and his arms and wrists were already hurting from holding him up. His right shoulder was beginning to throb.

“Are you just going to stand there or are you going to help me?” he directed this at Bartimaeus, hoping his voice didn’t sound as strained to the djinni as it did to his own ears.

“No.”

“No?”

“You’re so high and mighty, surely you can cover this small distance without help,” he said with a smirk, arms crossed over his chest as if to rub it in that he could stand just fine without their help. Nathaniel sighed in annoyance and wondered how deluded he was to think Bartimaeus had ever been generous towards him.

“Better cut my losses,” Nathaniel sneered, and forced himself to take the tiniest of steps. He didn’t fall. Progress. “As far as I know you’d let me fall on purpose.”

Bartimaeus snorted. “You don’t need help with that.”

Nathaniel glared and took a bigger step forward. “You’re all bark and no bite.”

Bartimaeus was grinning, but his eyes were icy. “I suppose you would know all about that, eh? Sending spirits off to war to do your dirty work. Sending commoners, too, and making the most ridiculous promises because you knew they wouldn’t come back. How’s your sleep, Mandrake?”

“Sod off, Bartimaeus.” Out the corner of his eye he saw his therapist jump a little at his tone, but Bartimaeus didn’t even twitch. “You know nothing.” He tried not to think of the many times Bartimaeus had probably heard him mumble or even scream in his sleep.

“I think someone’s forgetting where I was.”

Nathaniel wanted to have the strength to march right up to Bartimaeus and smack him. But he didn’t, so he held on tighter and tried to control his breathing. He shuffled forward, not caring that the point of this exercise was that he could actually lift his feet and control his legs.

“And I think _you’re_ forgetting where _I_ was,” was his weak reply. But then he remembered something. “Worship at my temple, why don’t you?”

He didn’t know if Bartimaeus had caught his double entendre. All he knew was that Bartimaeus had taken a step forward and his shoulders and neck were tense and slightly lifted, possibly in order to intimidate him. His eyes were dark, with no hint of humour left in them. It all worked. His heart was beating so fast, like it wanted to squeeze in as many beats as possible before Bartimaeus decimated him.

He barely registered his therapist finally interfering by making calming gestures. She was saying something as well, but Nathaniel paid her no mind. You did not look away when Bartimaeus was glaring daggers at you.

“Do not drag me into your miserable, guilt-ridden pity party,” Bartimaeus growled in his face. “My favour to Kitty does not cover idiocy and death wishes.”

Nathaniel was shaking and his heart was thudding, but he still found it within himself to respond with, “Practice what you preach,” even though his voice was creaky and not at all as menacing as Bartimaeus’s.

“Jesus Christ,” a fourth voice joined them and the glaring contest broke. His therapist sighed in relief. “Knock it off.” Sam approached, and the closer he came, the angrier he looked. “Which part of ‘no excitement’ wasn’t clear?” He directed this at Bartimaeus, who was still looking murderous. Sam seemed unaffected. “And you, Mr Mandrake. Do you think this is the time to pick up a fight with a friend?”

“He’s not my friend,” Bartimaeus and Nathaniel muttered at the same time, then growled at each other.

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep, calming inhale. “For the love of God. I leave you two alone for less than an hour—” He exhaled angrily. Then he turned around, grabbed the wheelchair and came back.

Nathaniel had never seen Sam worked up like this. To be fair, he had just met him, but Sam always had a calm, happy demeanour about him. He was constantly smiling and trying to cheer him up. He often succeeded too.

“Now finish the exercise,” he said more calmly.

* * *

When Nathaniel woke up for the second time that day, his eyelids were being warmed by the sun. It had pulled the grey clouds back like curtains, revealing an intense orange sky, and inundated the room, casting a golden glow everywhere it touched. The rain droplets clinging to the window shone with rainbow colours like pearls.

Still in a haze, he blindly reached for the glass on his nightstand, missing several times, before drinking the water in three big gulps. His right shoulder burned a little from the effort, but nothing that he couldn’t take. He felt sore all over, though, and it was probably nearing the time for his medication, given that his side was beginning to throb uncomfortably. It was itching too.

On the armchair near the window, an Egyptian boy rested folded in on himself. He was deeply focused on a magazine in his lap, brow set in concentration and lower lip pouting out. Ptolemy’s face was sculped with the utmost detail—from inquisitive eyebrows to the two moles on the thin neck to the boyish round chin, where Nathaniel knew a scar should be. A failed attempt on his life, eight world empires ago. But that was as far as Nathaniel could observe. The rest of the boy’s body was wrapped in a navy-blue blanket cocoon, which dwarfed him almost comically, but his toes still managed to stick out. Nathaniel found that detail endearing.

Then he remembered he was watching a tangible ghost, and his thoughts scattered. The monitor on his right beeped quietly. An aging bouquet of red poppies tried to brighten up the room from his nightstand, replacing the distinct hospital smell with that of dying flowers. The calendar stated today was the 17th of November. Which meant he’d been at the hospital for a month and a half already. Which, in turn, meant that Bartimaeus had been there for almost two weeks.

His eyes returned to the dozing figure, like damned moth to damnable flame, and he sighed.

He didn’t know why he felt so irritated, since he should barely have the energy for it. But Bartimaeus had always managed to rile him up somehow. It was so frustrating to have him there to witness his weakest moment, so frustrating not to be able to do anything about it or about anything else, really. And he was still smarting from the argument.

Nathaniel could admit that he hadn’t always acted honourably. In the past he’d blamed the Council for not taking the right measures, but he’d been part of that same Council. As much as he’d convinced himself otherwise, he _could_ have done something. He’d just felt paralysed by all the consequences. Ironically enough, none of that had mattered when he’d seen Bartimaeus dying on the fine tiles of Devereaux’s Richmond estate. The danger of being ostracised and even sent to the Tower had barely crossed his mind. Jane had called him sentimental, and that had scared the living daylights out of him. Because if he was sentimental and he’d been so _towards_ one of his de—spirits, then what kind of magician was he?

Nathaniel closed his eyes again with a heavy sigh.

“Stop that, will you? You’re bringing the entire building down.”

That surprised him. Bartimaeus enjoyed using the silent treatment every time they argued. It usually made Nathaniel start talking a lot more to make up for his share of the silence. Circumstances had changed, he supposed, and while they had avoided any kind meaningful conversation like the plague, they had shared a few words during the little time Nathaniel stayed awake.

Nathaniel peered at Bartimaeus again to find he’d barely moved and was most definitely not staring at him. Nathaniel wasn’t sure if he felt annoyed or slightly paranoid that Bartimaeus could tell his mood so easily without even looking.

But there was no reason for Bartimaeus to know that. “I thought I’d lost those abilities after I dismissed you.”

“No, you always had that talent,” Bartimaeus offered, frowning at the paper before him and stabbing it with a pen. “I wouldn’t be surprised if your head started to smoke.” Bartimaeus glanced at him to check and Nathaniel frowned. “There are some sparks.”

Nathaniel couldn’t tell if Bartimaeus knew about the invasion of privacy, but his choosing to be in Ptolemy’s guise all the time felt like some form of passive-aggressive punishment Bartimaeus would think up. Not that Nathaniel had been the most subtle about it a few hours ago. He couldn’t decide if he wanted Bartimaeus to know and be done with it or spare them both the extra layer of awkwardness.

Nathaniel unclasped his hands from the covers, only now realising he’d been gripping them since Bartimaeus had first spoken. He squirmed some. His side was starting to bother him. “Maybe you did leave some magic behind.”

Bartimaeus shrugged noncommittally, attention back in the magazine. “Word for feigning death,” he said with a scoff, clearly amused. “Ten letters.”

What were they doing? Were they just going to pretend they hadn’t argued a few hours before? Bartimaeus always enjoyed rehashing stuff, so this felt strange and forced. Had Sam forced him to do this? Were they going to do a crossword puzzle together and pretend to forget all about their argument? What next? Sudoku and silly riddles?

Bartimaeus _had_ to be under orders. Sam or Dr Elgar had probably told him to do this so Nathaniel’s brain could get some exercise. So far, Bartimaeus had admitted to being there as a favour to Kitty. However, that went without saying; of course Kitty would refuse to follow proper summoning procedures. And really, could he even say anything, given that he’d had Bartimaeus dancing around in his head? It did make him wonder again just how deep Bartimaeus’s bond with Kitty was, which never helped, so he pushed it to the back of his mind.

Nathaniel would resign to this silly game, even though he was still very much annoyed.

“Just one word?” he asked with vague interest.

“Doesn’t say. Stupid puzzle.”

“It’s not stupid just because you can’t solve it,” Nathaniel supplied, hoping to get some reaction out of him.

But Bartimaeus simply rolled his eyes at the paper, and said, “You’re all talk. Give me the bloody answer, then.”

Nathaniel considered it. Feigning death. Ten letters. Assuming it was an idiomatic expression, then… “Try play possum.”

Bartimaeus scribbled on the page and then narrowed his eyes at it. Nathaniel didn’t even try to fight back a winning grin. “Lucky guess,” Bartimaeus grumbled.

Nathaniel didn’t say anything. This was bizarre, but not unpleasant, and he wanted to see what Bartimaeus would do next before he decided what approach to take. Besides, his brain could do with the exercise, so this wasn’t the worst idea.

“Ooh, another funny one.” Bartimaeus grinned mischievously. “Acidic citrus fruit. Four letters.”

Nathaniel frowned. “Lime? That’s hardly challenging. How have you finished any of the others?”

Bartimaeus rolled his eyes at him and emphasised the word, like Nathaniel was being dense. “It’s your old friend Rufus, the fish-faced fellow.”

Nathaniel clicked his tongue. “Honestly. Is there a word in that puzzle not related to our misadventures?”

“Doesn’t seem like it. Look here: bad guy. Seven letters.”

“Villain?” Nathaniel immediately supplied.

Bartimaeus’s lips curled at the corners a little too much for a human face. He was beginning to look like the Cheshire cat. Which was good. The less human-like, the easier to separate from Ptolemy. Nathaniel pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned at himself as his side throbbed and itched some more.

“This next one’s your specialty!” Bartimaeus announced like he’d found out there was a leftover slice of cake after all. He dramatically cleared his throat as he rearranged his position to be more upright. He flung the hand holding the magazine to the side, the other theatrically poised over his chest. “Rise as if by magic,” he uttered in a voice full of wonder, with gasps galore for that extra something. It was only lacking in the lighting department.

Nathaniel tried to fight his amusement, but there was no helping the snort this time around. “You haven’t given me the number of letters, Shakespeare.” He refused to think of Makepeace now.

“Shh, you can’t rush these things,” Bartimaeus chastised in a whisper. Nathaniel recalled that was exactly what he’d said before they’d joined in his body. He shook his head, half in amusement, half in exasperation. “Eight’s the magic number! And the letter ‘L’ is already available.”

There’d been a word in Nathaniel’s mind right from the start, but he’d been waiting for the performance to end before deadpanning, “Levitate.”

Bartimaeus sighed. “Killjoy.” As if to prove his point, he began hovering over the armchair and slowly rotating to the right. Before long, he was upside-down. “Although I suppose I can’t blame you. Magicians are very lacking in the sense of humour department.”

Magicians were very lacking in other departments, namely the spirit department. Because magicians were wrong about spirits. Now that he’d allowed the thought to enter his head, there was no taking it back. This thought wouldn’t have been allowed to cross his mind a month and a half ago. But oh, the truth of it rang like painful waves crashing against his temples in a steady rhythm. It didn’t mean he knew how to deal with Bartimaeus any better now, however. Lord knew how his interactions with other humans went, much less an entirely different species. However, there was no denying the similarities between them, and that reinforced his newfound belief.

But he still wanted to strangle Bartimaeus. And rip out his side, but that was another issue entirely.

“No need to look so crestfallen. You have better sense of humour than most magicians, I suppose,” Bartimaeus offered. “Not that that’s saying much, but—”

“Thanks,” Nathaniel said before Bartimaeus could ruin the moment.

Silence stretched between them for a few minutes. Nathaniel took the opportunity to grab the water bottle on his nightstand in order to fill his glass. It was farther away than the glass, so it was quite the feat, but with some shuffling and some smarting from his shoulder, he managed to grab it. Another hand snatched it away.

“I can do this much, you know,” Bartimaeus said from beside his bed.

“I didn’t think you’d want to,” Nathaniel replied. They _had_ just argued, and Bartimaeus was rarely ever in the mood to help.

Bartimaeus shrugged and poured the water. “Your shoulder isn’t fully healed yet.” Nathaniel made a sound in acknowledgement. Bartimaeus stood there a bit longer, letting Nathaniel sip the water before blurting out, “Listen, we need to talk about something.”

Here it was. Bartimaeus had figured it out after all and wanted to ascertain how much Nathaniel knew. Suddenly that was the last thing he wanted to do, so he babbled out, “Bartimaeus, look, I didn’t mean to—”

“I think I know how you survived.” Bartimaeus paused and frowned. “What didn’t you mean to do?”

“Nothing. Maybe you should call someone. It must be time for my meds.”

“No, if you’re apologising for this morning, then let’s hear it first.” Bartimaeus crossed his arms and looked smugly down at him.

Nathaniel sputtered indignantly. What a suggestion! “ _Excuse_ me—”

“You should also apologise to your physiotherapist. What was her name again?”

“No idea.” Nathaniel crossed his arms, mirroring Bartimaeus. “And why do _I_ have to apologise? I didn’t say anything wrong. _You_ , on the other hand...”

Bartimaeus shook his head. “Forget it. Even after all that happened, you choose to think of me as a soulless demon. I don’t know why I bothered.”

Nathaniel felt himself deflating through his sigh. “That’s not true,” he said quietly.

Bartimaeus snorted bitterly. “You sure show it.”

“Well, you aren’t exactly a picnic,” he snapped, but it was half-hearted.

Bartimaeus let the words hang in the air for a bit, and Nathaniel took the opportunity to squirm some. His side was really, _really_ bothering him.

Bartimaeus grabbed his glass and set it down on the nightstand. “Scoot over,” he said and started to sit before Nathaniel had the time to protest.

“ _What_ are you doing?”

Bartimaeus rolled his eyes. “Spare me the insult. Don’t you want me to take a look at your side?”

Nathaniel only stared at him suspiciously. “We’re at a hospital. There’s medical staff here.”

“Well, who do you think brought you back?”

“I know that.”

“So?”

“I thought you could only do it when there was magic inside.”

“I’m not sure there’ll ever not be some left,” Bartimaeus said. “Dr Elgar agrees, if you need an expert’s validation. It’s not necessarily lethal,” he added at Nathaniel’s alarmed look. “When we tried to pull it away from you, it caused more harm than good. So I… pushed.”

“You pushed,” Nathaniel deadpanned.

Bartimaeus gave him a look. “It’s hard to explain. I reactivated it and tried to manipulate it. Which is what I’ll try to do now, if you stop stalling and let me.”

Nathaniel sighed and shuffled a bit to the left. Bartimaeus made himself comfortable over the blankets, crossing his legs and not at all bothered that his knee was touching Nathaniel’s right hip. Nathaniel looked pointedly at it for a few seconds, but Bartimaeus either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“No funny business,” Nathaniel warned.

“Please,” Bartimaeus drawled. “Like I haven’t seen it all already.”

Nathaniel’s face exploded as he made a bunch of incoherent noises.

“Just let me see it. You haven’t stopped squirming since you woke up.”

And here he’d thought he’d been discreet. “Fine.” He lifted his gown, careful to keep the blanket covering his waist at all times. Bartimaeus leaned over to inspect it and frowned. “What?” he asked.

“It’s a bit red, but it doesn’t look bad. Is it hurting?”

“And itching. And, well… Last time I believed you I nearly died.”

“You didn’t believe me last time.”

“Fair point.”

“If I touch it, will you jump through the ceiling?” Bartimaeus asked in a patronising tone, but he sat still awaiting Nathaniel’s reply.

Nathaniel narrowed his eyes at him. “As long as you don’t do anything inappropriate.”

“We’ve been over this. Not interested. Go sell it elsewhere.”

Nathaniel huffed in annoyance. Every time he so much as thought Bartimaeus was being nice, the djinni went and undid it. “You are impossible.”

Bartimaeus grinned and Nathaniel’s heart lurched at the sight. Ptolemy had smiled just like that at the flea market. His mind was brought back by Bartimaeus’s touch. Nathaniel forced himself not to move, although he did hiss at the contact. Bartimaeus locked eyes with him, and Nathaniel nodded for him to continue. This was the oddest situation, to have Bartimaeus sitting on his hospital bed with a hand on his side and not in order to kill him.

“So, should I tell you about my theory?” Bartimaeus suggested, moving his hand over the scarred tissue with great care.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Nathaniel muttered through gritted teeth, trying to watch the glow coming off his side to keep himself distracted. Right now he just wanted Bartimaeus to get on with the healing. He didn’t want to talk about it, dissect each step and each image in his brain. The thought made his hands begin to sweat.

Bartimaeus gave him an odd look, like he was examining Nathaniel’s brain for potential injuries. Nathaniel thought he’d insist and call him a baby for not facing the situation head-on, but instead, Bartimaeus said, “Well, no wonder.” And then, after Nathaniel had stared at him in stunned silence for longer than a minute, he added, “I was there, Nathaniel. I may not function like a human, but I sure felt everything with you.”

It hit him like thunder that Bartimaeus—or anyone else, really—couldn’t have said anything better in that moment. He thought no one would get it. The medical staff, although professional and kind enough, surely didn’t. Kitty and Piper hadn’t even bothered to be there, and they certainly didn’t get it either. Maybe Kitty would, a little. But it wasn’t the same. And while Bartimaeus wouldn’t have the exact same perception or process it like Nathaniel, he understood.

It was like Bartimaeus had put a balm over his brain rather than his side. He felt weepy all of a sudden. He felt like his turmoil had been validated in a bunch of apparently insignificant words.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, flinching a little when his voice cracked.

Bartimaeus pretended not to notice, giving him a terse nod. “We can talk about it whenever you’re ready, or not at all. There’s nothing else left to solve there.”

Magicians really were so wrong about spirits.

“There’s a lot left to solve,” Nathaniel muttered, not entirely sure himself what he meant by it. Bartimaeus gave him a quizzical look before returning his attention to the wound. Nathaniel could barely feel any lingering pain. “I think you can stop now.”

Bartimaeus nodded again and removed his hand, carefully pulling down Nathaniel’s hospital gown until it reached the blankets. Nathaniel’s side was blissfully dormant now, as was he. Which in a way proved that Bartimaeus’s magic accelerated his healing rather than eliminating the problem altogether, thus making him tired. Moreover, this proved Bartimaeus correct in that there was still magic left in him. How odd.

Sam chose to appear in that moment, carrying a tray with Nathaniel’s dinner and definitively putting an end to an awkward silence. Nathaniel felt his body relax at the intrusion.

“Good evening!” he said cheerfully, all traces of his anger erased, even though the circles around his eyes still looked like bruises. Nathaniel could sympathise. “I see you two have made up.” Neither Bartimaeus nor Nathaniel had the bite left in them to deny anything, which made Sam’s smile waver for a split second. He soon recovered with: “Who’s ready for some delicious dinner?”

Nathaniel crinkled his nose. Delicious wasn’t the adjective for it, not by a large margin. Regardless of the hospital’s reputation, the food still tasted bland and unappetising.

Sam caught his expression and gave him a sympathetic smile. “I know, I know. But you still have to eat. How do you expect to make any progress in physio if you’re not getting the proper nutrition?”

“He thinks his iron will suffices,” Bartimaeus helpfully supplied. Nathaniel was even glad for the jab. It was a piece of normalcy.

“Well, there’s no iron will without iron,” Sam lamely said. Nathaniel and Bartimaeus shared a look. “That wasn’t my best effort.”

“It wasn’t that b—”

“No doubt,” Bartimaeus cut him off.

Sam grinned at them, seemingly unfazed. “So, about that dinner…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anjumstar is... well, a star for not only letting me rant about this chapter and helping me figure out what do to, but also for telling me what was working and what wasn't.  
> Another quick thing before you go back to your lives: I'm never abandoning this story. I haven't put a ridiculous amount of blood, sweat and tears on NaNo for me to jump off the boat now. But sometimes I need a little more time to edit and get annoyed at past me.  
> Stay safe and healthy, friends. Much love.


	8. truth is like blood underneath your fingernails

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May I just say that you all have such great usernames. I feel so basic with mine and I bow before thee. And speaking of great names, I want to give a special shoutout to izzybusiness and Mohnblumenkind for being so generous with their words each and every time. There's not enough brownies in this world for you two.  
> And while we're on the topic of being grateful (I can't be stopped today), I want to thank anjumstar for always handling my rambly emails with such patience and going through some sections of this chapter twice.  
> (This is my second time uploading this chapter. There seemed to be a problem with the first, so hopefully it's fixed now. I think one or two comments may have been erased, so I'm sorry if that was yours!)

_Piper_

Kitty was late.

Piper put on her best smile as she listened to yet another guest smoothly insinuating she’d only donate if their record was cleared. Piper nodded along—a picture of grace and serenity—all the while shooting quick glances to the front door in search of Kitty’s grey-black hair in the mass of black dresses and tuxes. She once more found disappointment instead as another unremarkable head entered the room. The conversation carried on, moving to topics such as the economy and plans for the future of London. Piper responded as vaguely as possible, careful to throw the smallest details here and there in order to pretend she was actually sharing something of value.

It was exhausting. She could feel her facial expression slipping with each interaction. After the week she’d had, having to top it off with an event where she had to smile and make breezy conversation seemed cruel. Piper felt old wishing that she could spend her Saturday night at home reading a book. Plus, after so many years as a magician, she should have better endurance. If only her master could see her now, Piper thought bitterly.

“I’m looking forward to receiving your proposal in the future, Madam Prime Minister,” Emilia was saying. “I’m sure we’ll be able to work something out to put this city back on its feet. So long as some past mistakes are… overlooked,” she added with a lilt in her voice.

Piper grinned back to encourage her. “What mistakes?” she asked, receiving a pleased smirk in response.

“It was very nice to talk to you. We’ll be in contact soon.” And then she left, mingling with the crowd.

Piper sighed inwardly, wary of giving anyone the tiniest of clues into her mental state. Her surroundings were of no great help either. Devereaux’s mansion in Richmond had been the chosen location to host this fundraiser. That’s how it had been proposed to the Council, but Piper knew it was more of a desperate grab at important people’s pockets in exchange for favours.

Regardless, the mansion served its purpose. In his arrogance and fear of being overthrown, Devereaux hadn’t left a will. Piper supposed that if he had, most things would have gone to Makepeace, which would in turn be invalidated by the latter’s death as well. No one had thought to redecorate, so now Piper was stuck facing stag heads because it was the nearest she could get both to the fireplace and the door while still doing her job. Even the stained-glass window still had a hole in it.

Apparently, during Devereaux’s last masquerade, a frog had shot through it. Piper hadn’t been there, so it could be a baseless rumour for all she knew. That seemed to be commonplace when it came to Devereaux’s soirées. Not that she’d been to many; the ones she’d attended had mostly been to accompany John Mandrake as he insisted on bringing work with him whenever possible. She’d mostly found them overtly extravagant, especially the performances. And now she could say it too, seeing as Makepeace was nationally hated. It was the one that thing the Council managed to agree on.

Piper was brought back from her reverie when she heard the distinct sound of moving wheels behind her. Mr Button rolled up beside her in a shabby black suit. Piper was mildly surprised he had even bothered to wear one, but she would never tell him that.

“Are you attempting to hide in plain sight, Madam Prime Minister?” he asked with a quirked eyebrow.

Piper almost rolled her eyes. She disliked being called that, and Mr Button insisted on it simply to pester her. Instead, she gave him a tired, amused smile, and said, “I’m just taking a small break. I’ve already talked to eleven people tonight, and none of them were pleasant. So stay a while, will you? And tell me something good.”

“Very well.” He motioned to the green sofa on the other side of the vestibule, to which they moved in companionable silence. After Piper had graciously sat down and once again repressed a sigh—this time of relief, Mr Button added, “We’ve almost hit half of our estimated donations for tonight, and we’re just in the first hour.”

“I’m not sure that’s good news. Most people come to these events with their mind made up.”

“Hence your presence, and that of your peers. But you’re the star of the show, and therefore just have to keep working your charm. Soon we’ll have made a respectable amount.” Almost as an afterthought, Mr Button added with his eyebrows meaningfully raised, “London certainly won’t be rebuilt by well wishes and sheer will.”

Piper pursed her lips. She appreciated Mr Button’s realism and understood the reason behind this type of event—she _was_ a magician-politician. However, at the moment what she needed was for someone to take a load off her shoulders. But she knew it had to be her doing this. She was the Prime Minister and while she felt absolutely exhausted, Piper had been trained to be persuasive, always. The sad part was that her greatest achievement in terms of persuasion was also why they were having such a big problem with North America.

“One problem at a time, my dear,” Mr Button whispered affably as he gave her hand a few comforting pats. Piper smiled gratefully at him. “Now, I hate to be repetitive, but if you’re looking for more pleasant company, you should talk to Mr Brunetti. Very agreeable gentleman. Possesses a great taste in literature.”

Piper wanted to retort that that was the only reason why he found Brunetti agreeable, but she refrained. “In a minute.”

They remained silent for a bit after that, and the hullabaloo of conversation seemed to recede from her mind. Piper allowed herself to close her eyes for the briefest moments, knowing Mr Button would alert her if someone approached. As she did, her other senses took charge, bringing her the smell of rain-soaked earth from the window as her bare arms started to prickle from the difference in temperature.

Then there was the sound of movement—clothes rustling, shoes clicking on the floor, glasses clinking together—and in wafted the pungent smell of alcohol from the cocktails and the champagne, the irresistible scent of fried shrimp, braised meat, and Stinking Bishop. She hadn’t touched any of the food because she’d been so preoccupied, but now her stomach rumbled in indignation.

Piper felt recentred. She’d just needed a minute to breathe. So she opened her eyes again, and immediately found a dove in the crowd of ravens. She involuntarily frowned.

“Is that…?” she trailed off, knowing the answer.

“Sholto Pinn? The one and only,” Mr Button said anyway, also sounding a bit put off.

The dress code for the event dictated the guests wear all black, to symbolise mourning for the fallen. Not that Piper cared much about colour schemes and the like—she had been barely involved in the planning—but she could predict an uncomfortable evening for him. But either he didn’t care what others thought, or this was his way of rebelling.

Pinn was wearing an off-white suit with a white shirt underneath. Only his dress shoes and bowtie were black. His trusty, gold-rimmed monocle was pressed against his right eye and he kept turning his head in search of something or someone.

It seemed Pinn had been looking for them, because as soon as he noticed them, he started limping over as graciously as a human could under the circumstances.

“Madam Prime Minister, Mr Button.”

“Mr Pinn. Please,” Piper said as she motioned to the couch and shuffled to the right to give him more room.

“That’s quite alright,” he cordially refused, heavily leaning on his cane as he dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief. “I’m afraid I’ll have to leave soon. I’m departing to India tomorrow to take care of some business.”

“So soon? I thought you’d just arrived from Kenya this week.”

Pinn gave her a noncommittal but graceful shrug, as if implying that business never slept. In a quieter voice, he said, “I came to warn you.” He made a big show of folding and putting the handkerchief back in his breast pocket as a means to scan their surroundings. Piper did the same as she leaned in closer to him, not finding anything on planes one through three. Her nexus and the mansion’s own were dormant as well. “A few days ago, I received word that something was amiss near Southwark Cathedral.”

Mr Button frowned. “But that’s outside the area affected by the hybrids.” A glint of recognition flashed in his eyes. “Do you mean a hybrid was sighted there?”

“No, that’s exactly what is odd.” Pinn stole another furtive glance over his shoulder. “I took a few demons with me and walked around the area, and, sure enough, there was this faint energy coming from the Thames.”

“From the Thames?” Piper asked, utterly confused. “I thought you said Southwark Cathedral.”

“That’s what I heard. But the further I investigated, the closer I got to the river. More specifically, closer to London Bridge.”

“And you don’t think this is simply residual magic? London _is_ full of it, even before recent events,” Mr Button stated.

“No, it was nothing of the sort. My demons confirmed it.” He looked Piper in the eye, and added, “You should look into it.”

Piper was about to protest that she already had too much on her plate without adding the pursuit of asinine rumours to her list, but Pinn was done talking. He readjusted his monocle, closed his pocket watch, and gave them a cordial nod of the head for the second time in five minutes.

“Enjoy the rest of the evening. I shall see you both soon.”

Pinn didn’t wait for a retort. He spun on his heel and headed for the door, stopping only to collect his overcoat from a spirit servant by the door. Piper and Mr Button were left sitting there in pensive silence.

Mr Button was the first to break it. “What do you think?”

“What do _I_ think?” Piper scoffed. “I’m leaving for North America in a few days because some twat couldn’t write a respectful peace treaty between the Empire and North America, and Pinn wants me to worry about some _faint energy_ coming from a _river_? Not to mention this has to be his way of trying to get in my good graces. Lord knows why.”

Piper thought she was finished, but the mention of the treaty always riled her up a little, so she added, “Who even wrote that thing anyway? Or better yet, why didn’t _you_ write it and save us the embarrassment?”

“I’ve been very busy with the housing situation. Not very many people are interested in opening their homes to others, as expected. And the Council is still fighting the idea of using the deceased magicians’ houses as a temporary solution. So far, we have Malbindi’s, Mortensen’s and Farrar’s, since they are the least popular among the commoners and magicians alike.”

Piper shook her head, the many meetings of the last month and a half on her mind. Then, without giving it a second thought, she said, “Well, you can use mine.”

Mr Button gave her a surprised look. “Are you sure? What about when you come back? And what about Liz—Ms Jones? I thought she was living with you after what happened earlier this week…”

“I’ll move into John Mandrake’s house when I get back.” That only seemed to surprise Mr Button more. But she spoke again before he could. “Don’t give me that look. He’s a hero now. You don’t open heroes’ houses to strangers. The Council would have both of our heads. So, I’m moving in and they can try and stop me.” As an afterthought, she added, “And I wouldn’t worry about Kitty.”

“You do realise you’ll be leaving Ms Jones alone in that house for a bit before you return, yes? What if the Council protests anyway?”

Piper wanted to laugh at the idea. When Nathaniel got out of hospital, he needed to have a place to go back to. Piper was sure he wouldn’t turn Kitty down, and when the Council found out he was alive… She almost wanted to stay just to see their faces.

“They won’t.”

Mr Button blinked in astonishment at her assured tone. “Very well.” Then, after a pause, which he spent gazing in confusion at her, Mr Button cleared his throat and said softly, “Rebecca, you know you don’t have to go. In fact, most of us wish you wouldn’t.”

“I know.” Piper sighed, somewhat subdued by his use of her first name. “But I have to. That was their only condition, wasn’t it? Besides, you’ll keep everything running smoothly until I return, I’m sure. And… who knows? You might find help in unexpected places.”

Mr Button gave her a suspicious look. “Now you’re the one speaking in riddles. Is there anything I should know?”

She shook her head and looked up, set on changing the subject. She’d already said too much and these walls had ears. Figuratively, at least. There were no spirits stuck inside as far as she knew, but a ring of horlas and ghuls circled the mansion.

“You mentioned a Mr Brunetti?”

He gave her another lingering look before motioning in the general direction of the living room. “Tall, tanned, black hair combed back, speaks with his hands like every other good Italian.”

Piper shook her head at him in amusement, but decided to count her blessings. Even if vague, it was a description, and Mr Button had dropped their previous topic without protest. “Thank you for that… colourful description, Mr Button.”

He bowed his head in mock gratitude. “Always happy to serve.”

Piper got up, immediately noticing how her feet didn’t want to hold her weight again. She was reminded of why she preferred to endure these events standing and only sit down when she was back in the car.

But that was the least of her worries. Because just as Piper started walking with purpose towards the living room, a servant was coming from the kitchen. A servant carrying a tray filled with champagne flutes. For a moment, time seemed to slow down as her brain registered what was about to happen and searched for a solution in vain. She noticed the servant’s horrified expression too as it also dawned on him what was about to happen.

Then time returned to normal, and for the second time that week, Piper found herself drenched to the bone.

* * *

The rain had been relentless all week, but it had been especially bad on Tuesday the 15th. What had started as a light morning drizzle had evolved to merciless pouring by evening. The grass of St James’s Park splashed and sploshed under her boots, and her clothes clung to her uncomfortably. She shivered as the wind picked up.

Rebecca Piper was having an odd day.

She was considering extending that to week. Because precisely three days prior she’d received a summons at an ungodly hour of the night only to find Kathleen Jones waiting for her at the police station. Kitty had put up a brave front, but the fear in her eyes hadn’t fooled her. And so Kitty had moved out of her shoddy room and in with her. There’d been some protests, suggestions of calling some friends to stay with, but Piper had balked at the idea. If a hybrid was tailing Kitty, then she obviously needed proper protection, and Piper could provide it. And so the chase had begun.

They hadn’t much to go on, and the police were already spread thin. The hybrids Nathaniel and Bartimaeus hadn’t taken care of were either in hiding, terrorising nearby cities, or tailing specific people. Piper couldn’t help but see the connection between this, the hybrid that had attacked her, and Farrar’s death. Which always led to flashbacks of Farrar’s torn hospital bed and then some deep, soothing breaths to get them out of her head.

However, she’d never expected to actually be facing another hybrid quite so soon.

Piper had just left the last meeting of the day on that gloomy Tuesday and barely entertained the thought that she just might be able to visit Nathaniel, when Ronald Kingston had followed her outside, demanding a word. Piper had suggested they talked in her car, seeing as they were heading in the same direction and her visit to the Foreign Office would be brief. Everything had been going smoothly—well, as smoothly as things could go with a fifteen-year-old, entitled magician. They’d been passing by St James’s Park and nearing her destination when Kingston had demanded that the car be stopped, after which he had practically jumped out and then run into the park, shouting at her over his shoulder that she follow.

That’s how Piper had found herself standing in the middle of the park squinting up ahead at the hybrid. Night had put on its cloak early and gathered handfuls of angry clouds over their heads. Piper could see Ronald Kingston on her far left only because his long coat was swishing wildly around him. Her two djinn moved so fast that she could barely see them. Their attacks produced sudden and brief bursts of light, and through them she caught glimpses of the hybrid.

As far as she could tell, the hybrid was more demon than human at that point, but from the stature she could guess that the body had once belonged to an adult male. It was hard to be sure with that pair of mismatched wings and so many extra limbs and horns protruding from every centimetre. But that was probably for the best. It was easy to attach a person’s identity to their body, which made it harder to fight. In the middle of the madness, Piper briefly wondered if the creature’s true form was being displayed before her, or if Earth forced its own biological rules upon it.

“Come on, freak!” Ronald taunted.

Piper let out a nervous laugh, the adrenaline in her body still taking over most of her immediate reactions. The thrill of the hunt was intoxicating, and with four high-level djinn going against a hybrid-afrit weakened by the rain, Piper could almost taste victory. When she and Kingston were done with it, the Council would have to acknowledge her—the whole city too.

But then Piper saw its mouth open and grow, rows of sharp teeth glinting in the night. Before her two djinn could jump on him, the hybrid shot out a stream of fire. Piper dove to the ground, hitting her chin on a rock. She groaned as her mouth filled with dirt, grass and blood.

Suddenly Piper didn’t feel like laughing anymore.

She looked up to find that Ezekiel had diverted the attack to the side and stood protectively before Piper in her preferred guise of a grey wolf. But Amare, her other djinni, had taken a direct hit and was running towards the lake in the guise of a seven-tailed jaguar to douse her tails. Piper wanted to shout at her for that ridiculous reaction and for leaving her exposed.

She heard Ronald whimpering to her left. One of his djinn was passed out a few metres away. The edges of its grizzly bear guise seemed to tremble away and turn into a kaleidoscopic show of colours. Meanwhile, the hybrid lunged at Ronald’s other djinni—a regal bald eagle with mighty claws and powerful air magic—with his bare hands and bursts of fiery magic.

She coughed and moved to check on Ronald, who had remained down and was whining. While she did so, the hybrid grabbed the jaguar by her tails, swung her and threw her at the eagle, which wasn’t fast enough to dodge. They were sent flying and landed in the water with a mighty splash. Piper winced.

Then the hybrid’s eyes were on her, hungry and relentless. Piper felt her breath catch, and rushed to get up, Ronald’s well-being momentarily forgotten. She took one wobbly step back, mind coming up blank when she tried to remember the words to summon another one of her spirit servants. Ezekiel tangled with the hybrid, firing Detonations and even one impressive Hurricane.

However, the hybrid deflected all the Detonations and dodged the Hurricane, reaching the wolf with vertiginous speed. Ezekiel was thrown to the ground and stomped on, her cry ringing from within Piper’s brain long after it had subsided. She dismissed the wolf immediately, formula ready at the tip of her tongue, the fog in her mind receding far enough to allow it. The hybrid fixed its gaze on her, clearly surprised by her actions. Piper herself couldn’t understand them, much less communicate them.

The connection was cut off when suddenly the hybrid hopped to the side as a smaller, brown wolf jumped on it, ruthlessly biting at its neck and scratching at its eyes. Piper tried to step back and fell on her back. There she remained, breathing heavily, with her eyes glued to the scene in front of her. The wolf kept eluding the increasingly annoyed and frustrated hybrid with its speed. At some point, the hybrid managed to shake the wolf off, sending it flying. However, the wolf spun around in the middle of the air, landing with surprising dexterity.

Ronald Kingston had ceased the whimpering, Piper noticed, and she rushed to his side now that the hybrid was occupied. He’d fallen unconscious, but fortunately didn’t seem to have sustained any injuries to the head. It all indicated that he’d fainted.

The wolf growled dangerously, getting lower to the ground as it and the hybrid had a stare-down. The hybrid’s hands glowed red, and Piper was surprised to find it mixing Detonations with Convulsions, unaware until that moment that it was even possible to do so. The wolf seemed as surprised, but dodged every single one of the attacks, its speed winning over raw power.

Piper didn’t know how long she stood there watching that duel, wondering how come she didn’t know better and couldn’t do better herself. She wondered who this wolf was, and which magician could have sent such a powerful creature with such great timing. She couldn’t spot anyone else lurking nearby, which wasn’t saying much due to the circumstances.

Her bubble of thoughts was burst when suddenly the wolf jumped on the hybrid, its feral teeth finding the unprotected neck and snapping it in two. The wolf threw it in the water for good measure, not letting up until very slowly, as if reluctantly, it started disintegrating, becoming light particles that mixed with the scarcely visible stars under the moonlight. Up they went, a small parade of fireflies mingling with the dusk, their light snuffed out once they reached the clouds.

Piper exhaled a beat later, the rustle of the leaves on the trees the only other sound on the battlefield. The wolf paid her no mind. It shook its fur, spraying the grass with the blood dripping from its muzzle. Before Piper could find her voice, the wolf ran off, jumping over a bush and disappearing in the cluster of trees.

* * *

Piper threw yet another towel into the sink, letting out a frustrated growl as she looked at herself in the mirror. The stench of alcohol still reached her nostrils, no matter how hard she scrubbed her reddening skin. Her black dress was completely ruined. The fact that it wouldn’t stain was hardly any consolation. How could she go back down looking like this?

It didn’t matter, because she had already decided that she wouldn’t. Piper had seen the looks. Pity she’d expected, as well as shock, but the satisfaction on some people’s faces was what had sealed the deal. They wanted her to fail. Piper already knew this. She wasn’t liked by everyone, and she didn’t have the commanding aura of a leader. But to see it so openly displayed in a moment where she’d felt so exposed was what did it.

Her eyes started burning, ready for a spell of tears, but she refused to let them fall. She wouldn’t ruin her makeup too.

There was an urgent knock on the door, but Piper hadn’t even replied when the reason for her present consternation walked in carrying more towels and a bathrobe. Piper gave him a glare through the mirror, and he immediately halted.

“I brought some more towels, miss,” he said. Now that Piper’s wits were returning, she noticed that he had a foreign accent. “And I found this bathrobe in one of the guestrooms.”

“That’s Madam Prime Minister to you,” she spat, spinning around. Her heels clicked on the ground and Piper became annoyed again. Had she not bent over to aggressively remove her shoes, she would have seen the amused expression on his face. “What’s your name, boy?” she half-grunted from her bent position.

He hesitated for a moment, probably wondering if he would get in trouble. He would. He _definitely_ would.

“Romeo, Madam Prime Minister.”

Piper paused with her shoes in her hand. Then, she frowned, giving him an incredulous look. “If you’re going to lie, at least choose a more reasonable name.”

This time she saw the grin. And the impertinent shrug. “My nona was a fan of Shakespeare’s work.”

Piper gave him a good look this time around as she processed the information. The person standing in front of her wasn’t a boy. In fact, he should be close to her in age. He had a bit of stubble dotting his jawline, running up to his curly black hair. She now noticed that his shirt had a massive stain in the middle, and she bet the rest of his outfit had got champagne spilled all over it as well. That dimmed her anger the tiniest bit.

“Your… nona,” she tested the word in her mouth, feeling the foreignness on her tongue and knowing she was pronouncing it oddly, “gave you the name of a tragic, lovesick tosser who gave up everything for a thirteen year-old? I’m not sure I follow her reasoning… Are you a walking cautionary tale?”

His smile became wider. He had nice teeth. And a nice smile. “That’s an interesting theory.” He didn’t sound honest. “But Shakespeare is always best discussed over tea or coffee.”

Dear Lord, was he flirting with her? Piper’s eyes went so wide she feared they’d bug out. She must have had one glass too many if the idea didn’t immediately send her running in the opposite direction. Or made her do something more productive, like summoning Amare to throw him out.

Instead, she contented herself with grabbing the towels and bathrobe out of his hands and placing them on the marble counter. Apparently, he’d been waiting for her to speak, because eventually he cracked and said, “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you.” He sounded honest this time around, but you never knew.

Piper chanced a glance, finding that he wasn’t smiling anymore. “Thank you,” she said.

Now that she had regained control of the situation, she needed to think of what to do. Try to check if Kitty was still home and if she could bring her clothes? Send a spirit to get them? She wasn’t enamoured with the idea of having a spirit going through her drawers…

Piper had almost forgot she wasn’t alone in the bathroom. But then: “I could try to save your dress if you’d remove it.”

Piper gave him a sharp look, feeling her cheeks burn. Really, did he have to make it worse? “I’m not sure there’s much to be done. It’s…” She motioned vaguely to herself. “Well, you’ve definitely put it to rest.”

Romeo—if that truly was his name—pursed his lips in thought. “Well, then maybe I could find you something else to wear.”

Piper scoffed. “I’m not sure Devereaux’s clothes would suit me. And I’m sure I don’t want to find out that he had women’s clothes lying around.”

Romeo nodded with another amused grin. “Well, then I’ll offer you my clothes. It’s the least I can do.”

And, much to Piper’s horror, he promptly started removing his suit jacket and unbuttoning his shirt.

“Stop, stop, stop!” He did. Piper ran a hand over her face. “Oh my _God,_ what is wrong with you? Is this your first job? Why did I have to get stuck with a first-timer?”

“You’ll catch a cold if you stay in those clothes,” he retorted, completely ignoring everything she’d said. “At least put on the robe.”

“I will, once you stop gawking at me!” Piper exclaimed. “Just—find someone competent enough to deal with this situation.” Then she changed her mind. “Better yet, find Mr Button and have him call my house. Ms Jones might be there.”

Romeo nodded tersely and left Piper there, still coming down from her outrage. She couldn’t help thinking that if Kitty had been there, the situation would be solved already.

* * *

When Piper got home on Tuesday night, still shaky from the encounter with the hybrid, and very much done with her day, she found a note scribbled quickly on a square piece of paper from Edward Norwood. There he told her North America had refused their treaty proposal and had made a few demands in return. Piper, beyond exhausted and confused, dragged herself to the hall’s centre mahogany table, leaving a trail of wet feet on the carpet. Then she slid to the floor, putting her head in her hands as she mulled over the note.

As she went through a mental list of reasons for this response, the hybrid’s eyes flashed before her again, angry and righteously vengeful. She started, looking around the empty hall. The clock ticked, the house moaned with the wind outside, the wood cracked as the temperature dropped a little bit more that evening. But there was no hybrid, no spirit, really, except the spirits she’d placed outside to guard the house.

“I’m going mad,” she muttered to no one in particular, noticing how her voice sounded loud to her own ears, and then remembering Ezekiel’s horrible, painful cry as she’d been stomped on by the hybrid.

Piper hid her head between her knees, using her arms as shields for her ears. But it didn’t work; the cry was on loop in her mind. It was punishment, she was sure. She and Mandrake had been the ones responsible for the campaigns inciting people to go fight in North America. She had been part of a government that had forced spirits to fight their human wars, to fight against their own kind. She had read and heard stories of spirits which had been instructed to harm or kill their kind and vehemently refused to do so. These stories always seemed to end with everyone dying, and while most magicians told them with mocking and satisfaction, relying on the fact that their will would always overpower the spirit’s, Piper’s take had always been a little different.

Piper was a magician, but she wasn’t blind. Spirits were intelligent beings in every sense of the word. Her master had always told her so. Through her master’s teaching, Piper had learned to observe the spirits that way, and to fear them, always. While not exactly orthodox in his approach to teaching his pupil about spirits, Piper’s master hadn’t believed spirits to be equal to humans. After all, they hadn’t evolved enough to be able to rid themselves of the pentacle’s constraints.

Piper had believed this her whole life. So now that the spirits had indeed been cleverer, used human’s corruption and greed against them to claim what had been denied to them for all this time, Piper didn’t know what to believe anymore.

Piper’s master had been unorthodox in another way as well, and that was in his treatment of Piper. He had been kind to her from the beginning, with the notable exception of Piper forgetting her birth name. Her master had later blamed himself for not being harder on Piper; maybe then she would have been a child prodigy like John Mandrake. Even right on his death bed, he had called on Piper to apologise for being lenient on her education. Piper had time and again reassured him that he’d done well, that Piper didn’t aspire to grandness. Looking at herself now, rattled just by a confrontation with a hybrid, when Nathaniel had taken on multiple of them and gone on to almost sacrifice himself to stop Nouda, Piper felt increasingly small and pathetic.

Her master had been right, after all. Piper lacked the backbone needed to face up to a hybrid, much less to rule a country. She was an incompetent young adult who had no place being in such a high and privileged position. Even a commoner such as Edward Norwood was a better candidate. Tears prickling her eyes, Piper tried to fold in on herself further, hugging her knees close to her chest and hiding her grimacing face there.

That’s how Kitty found her an hour later. She’d dropped whatever she was carrying and rushed to Piper’s side, probably thinking something had gone horribly wrong. When Piper refused to tell her what was wrong for the third time, Kitty sat next to her and rested her head against one of the table’s legs.

“I brought stew. We could reheat it,” Kitty suggested a bit later, after Piper’s sobs had been toned down to a few sniffles per minute.

Piper didn’t say anything, feeling utterly humiliated and appalled at herself for letting Kitty witness another one of her weak moments. Kitty, who even Nathaniel had valued as an ally and who knew what else—maybe she’d even be Prime Minister one day! She had the drive and the unflinching determination Piper so lacked! What did it matter that she hadn’t taken a seat in Council? They would hand her the position at Kitty’s slightest show of interest. And now she was allowing Kitty to witness her pity party. How could she ever survive this?

“You know, whatever’s going on, I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Kitty said kindly. Piper could see some movement out of the corner of her eye and guessed Kitty must be playing with the carpet or her jumper, because that girl could never sit still for longer than a minute.

“You’re a strong person. When everything was tumbling down, you showed up and did something about it. Everyone else was panicking, but not you. You acted straight away. Made a plan, told people what needed to be done. You even included commoners in the new Council, and while I know it’s been difficult for you to accept us and adapt, you do it anyway. So, I’m sure that whatever’s being thrown at you at the moment is going to get kicked in the butt soon enough. You’ll see.”

Kitty turned to give her a brilliant smile, which Piper only got to see because, throughout Kitty’s little speech, she’d lifted her head from her knees out of sheer disbelief that Kitty could be saying those things about someone as unworthy of them as Piper was.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” a small, congested voice said. Piper cleared her throat as her embarrassment grew. “I’m not like what you’re describing at all.”

Kitty frowned at her. “Well, then you’ve been faking it really well.” She giggled. When Piper didn’t join her, Kitty added, “And here I came bearing the good news that I’ll be attending that event you won’t shut up about.”

That caught Piper’s interest. “You are? What about Edward Norwood? Don’t you have a shift that night?”

“He understood.” Kitty shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “Besides, I can’t let you have all the fun,” she offered with another grin.

Piper wanted to cry again, but for very different reasons. She managed not to.

Kitty must have sensed this, because soon she had sprung to her feet and said, “Come on. I have very, very cheap wine and some delicious leftover stew. Only the finest things for the Prime Minister herself.”

That got a small smile from Piper, which in turn plastered a bigger one on Kitty’s mouth. The former offered her hand, and the latter took it.

* * *

“Madam Prime Minister?”

Piper started, snapping out of her daydreaming. She turned to the source of the voice, finding Romeo at the door holding a garment bag and looking as serious as he should have a half hour before. He rushed in without being invited, and Piper was ready to chastise him again, but he spoke before she could.

“I found you a dress. Melanie Norwood volunteered it,” he answered her silent question. Piper really needed to work on her poker face. “You should change quickly. They’re waiting for you downstairs.” Piper was still so confused that Romeo had to grab one of her hands and put the bag in it for her to come out of it.

“Melanie Norwood, you said?” Piper asked as she opened the bag and pulled out the black dress. “Wasn’t she wearing this tonight?”

“I believe so. She said it was an honour to have the Prime Minister wear it.”

“But…” Piper was at a loss for a bit as she motioned vaguely to the dress. “What about her?”

The question seemed to genuinely surprise Romeo. “She had some clothes in her car.” Then the serious expression returned. “Listen, you really should hurry. There’s some commotion downstairs.”

Piper didn’t need to be told twice. “Right. Thank you.”

Romeo hesitated for second before turning and leaving, closing the door on his way out. Piper made quick work of shrugging out of her robe and into the empire dress. Her heels were swiftly put back on, and her feet’s protests ignored. She gave herself a last once over, running her fingers over her hair and removing the smudged parts of her makeup.

Then Piper left the bathroom and rushed downstairs, encountering agitated and whispering guests. The music had stopped and the servers were standing around, looking confused and slightly out of place. Romeo was nowhere in sight.

The stares came full force as Piper rejoined the crowd in search of someone who could tell her what was happening. She recognised the expectant looks, waiting for her to take action. For the first time in a month and a half, Piper felt like a leader, albeit a very lost one.

“Piper!” came Mr Button’s voice from her left. The crowd opened a little for them as those nearby readily took notice of the situation. Piper marched in his direction, noticing that Mr Button was accompanied by a tall gentleman who could be Mr Brunetti.

“Mr Button, what’s the matter? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He was nodding vehemently as she spoke, which she recognised as his nervous habit of indicating he wanted to speak. “Might as well, might as well!” he babbled, rocking a little in his wheelchair.

“Well?” she urged.

Mr Button let out an agitated exhale. “It appears that St Thomas’ Hospital was attacked once again.”

Piper paled, unable to produce so much as a gasp to react to the revelation. She had only one thought in her head: Nathaniel.

And then, as the pieces clicked together: Kitty.


	9. the scarlet avenger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that did not go as planned. Sorry about that. Somehow writing a dissertation/report is a lot more time consuming (and annoying) than I first imagined. On a happier note, this is the longest chapter so far, and guess what—the longest chapter until now was also a Bart chapter. He just won't shut up.  
> A quick note: no offense meant to any religion or its believers whatsoever.

_Bartimaeus_

Well, I should have seen it coming.

Two entire weeks of relative smooth sailing were too good to be true. Really, I'd been having such a grand time riling Nathaniel up that even Sam had told me on more than one occasion to mind his blood pressure—that's how well it was going. (1) And Kitty showing up dressed for what could only be a funeral should have been the last clue.

(1) Apparently his wardrobe was still a touchy subject. I'd merely asked for his opinion on the matter of the elasticity of his trousers, should the need arise for us to use them as a catapult. Which was a perfectly reasonable question, but you wouldn't know it by his reaction.

But then there came the explosion, and all went to hell.

It wasn't a particularly violent one, all things considered. The building barely grumbled from the impact, but the screams came soon after, ruining my chances of better pinpointing the source of the explosion. I could tell it had come from the lower levels of the hospital, but that was hardly helpful, since Nathaniel's room was at the very top.

"Sam, what happened to heightened security?" Kitty demanded from the door. She had her head stuck out to check the corridor, but she didn't seem to find anything. Well, apart from a lot of panicked people.

Sam fumbled for a moment, clearly baffled, and then hastily grabbed a small, rectangular device. "I, uh…" He squinted at it, then cursed. "My PDA ran out of battery." He shoved the device back in his pocket, this time producing a marble-sized crystal ball. "Show me the security department."

"I didn't know nurses had crystal balls," Nathaniel mumbled a bit distractedly. Were this another time, I would have made a hilarious joke. I almost felt robbed of such a golden opportunity. But Nathaniel was taking it the worst. He had jumped so much at the explosion and now was gripping the bedsheets to stop the trembling in his hands. And any time now he'd start hyperventilating. By all accounts, he looked ready for a proper panic attack, which was far from ideal. I needed him clearheaded.

Suddenly shocked out of my stupor by another explosion and more screaming, I grabbed the wheelchair and made for the bed. "Sam, you remove the IV. I've no idea how this works." Sam immediately pocketed the crystal ball and came closer, patting his other pockets. He found a small gauze packet and sighed in relief.

"This is far from ideal. I should change gloves and get some more gauze—"

"We're a bit pressed for time," I reminded him.

"Of course." Sam held Nathaniel's skin taut with one hand as he peeled the dressing back. "Mr Mandrake, if you're squeamish, I'd suggest looking away."

"I'm not—"

"Look at me," I told him as I grabbed his cheeks and turned his face to mine. "We're going to be fine." He gave me an almost imperceptible nod. "Good."

Nathaniel barely seemed to notice the catheter being removed, but he wasted no time in throwing the oxygen tube behind him. That didn't help the harsh breathing. He was taking mouthfuls at a time now.

"Here, press the gauze with your hand. It'll help with bruising," Sam instructed. Nathaniel nodded again. "And breathe slowly and deeply." Sam demonstrated with his own breathing, encouraging Nathaniel to copy him. So Sam had noticed too. Well, at least Nathaniel was listening to him; his breathing was slowing. He complemented this by counting down on his fingers, which Sam seemed to approve.

I spoke again when it seemed that he'd got it somewhat under control. "Okay, let's make ourselves scarce." Without waiting for a reply, I pulled back the blankets and moved Nathaniel to the wheelchair. Then I pushed it until we joined Kitty at the door.

"Do you reckon it's the same one?" Kitty asked, opening the door wider for us to pass.

"It's hard to say. The last time there weren't any explosions," I reminded her as we kept walking, sometimes nearly colliding with a panicked patient or medical staff. Sam quietly followed behind. "But I suppose the hybrid may have come back to finish the job and got frustrated."

Nathaniel turned to eye us both in confusion. We hadn't told him about Farrar because Dr Elgar thought it wouldn't 'promote healing'. And now really wasn't the time, but this idiot may just start thinking an attempt had been made on _his_ life. Which, to be fair, we weren't certain about. But now that Jane was dead and there wasn't another magician besides him staying here, what else could it be?

Sam, who had been fiddling with the crystal ball again and was now looking extremely anxious, blurted, "The department was attacked. There's no one there, so it could have gone either way, but…"

"Bloody brilliant," I grumbled, increasing my pace. The lift was right ahead.

"Wait, we shouldn't use the lift in this situation," Kitty said, halting our half march, half run.

"I seriously doubt a hybrid will think to look in one," I retorted.

"It'll still be suspicious if we're the only ones using it," Nathaniel pointed out. He seemed more in control now. Not near as cool and composed as usual, but better than a few minutes before.

"Isn't this great? I get to carry you down the stairs."

Nathaniel frowned. "What about the window?"

I gave it a glance. "Nexus, Hexes, horlas. Need I say more?"

He clicked his tongue. "Kitty, do you have the Amulet?"

Kitty fished in her black coat's pocket for it and handed it to Nathaniel without comment. I winced. That blasted Amulet had caused me enough grief to last a lifetime, thank you very much. Imagine my surprise when he twisted around to give it to me instead. "It'll absorb the Nexus and Hexes, right? And the horlas wouldn't dare come near it."

Colour me impressed. Even when he had sweat pooling on his forehead and upper lip, and his hands were as steady as leaves in the wind, this piece of work had actually made a good suggestion.

So obviously what came next was the biggest explosion yet, followed by the green flashes of multiple Detonations. I threw Sam to the floor behind me and stood in front of the group, the Amulet glimmering and pulsing on my chest. It absorbed every single Detonation almost hungrily. There was some more screaming, panicked running and doors closing.

The explosion had taken down a wall, and there was a thick cloud of smoke billowing in through the hole. For such an explosive entrance, this hybrid sure had managed to be quiet when it counted. I was beginning to understand how he'd entered undetected the first time.

I didn't want to cast a Hurricane without knowing precisely where everyone was—spirits and humans; they are too destructive, and this hybrid was already filling in that role. Besides, doing that would only expose our position. Instead, I began to back away slowly, urging the trio behind me to follow my lead.

As the smoke cleared, the humanoid shape became clearer. There was something annoyingly familiar here, which was hardly ever a good thing. (2) The hybrid approached at a slow, menacing pace. Feeling extra paranoid because of that itching inkling that I recognised this presence from somewhere, I threw a Shield around Kitty, Nathaniel and Sam.

(2) The downside to having such an illustrious career is inevitably making some enemies along the way. But any wise being will tell you that it's never a good thing when everyone agrees with you—take the utukku, for example. Those intellectual creatures can barely distinguish between the sharp and blunt ends of a spear. You wouldn't want them to get behind your ideas. Or admittedly just behind you at all.

Soon, I was able to see him much better. The magician's body was almost entirely gone, pieces of skin barely clinging to the red flesh beneath it. A pair of majestic, bronze angel wings sprouted from his back, and four pairs of eyes from his face. He had protruding, sharp canines, and three amber fox tails standing on end. His four muscled arms covered in alternating gold and red scales were flexed and ready to fire. And then there were the fiery hooves, of course. (3) They scorched the floor where they stood.

(3) Yes, there they were, those thrice-damned hooves. Either afrits can't or won't get rid of them, and that'll tell you of their stealth skills.

It was the most bizarre combination the Other Place and Earth had ever created—for this could be nothing if not some begrudging compromise between the two, probably out of the hybrid's own volition too. No spirit looked that _human_. And yet this was so utterly perverse that it couldn't be called that either.

I could almost hear the wheels in Sam's brain screeching to a halt as he gasped. So this was probably the same hybrid that had killed Farrar. But we were all so astonished that we hadn't moved for a while and he was closer now. The view certainly didn't get any less disturbing, but it also didn't help me remember.

It all clicked into place when he spoke.

"You, spirit protecting those humans, we're the same kind. We're brothers! Come now and together we'll decimate them. You'll be freed!"

My essence began to simmer at that voice.

"Asmodeus," I greeted through gritted teeth. "It's been a while."

He paused, no doubt examining the seventh plane for an answer. He needn't have bothered—I'd been keeping Ptolemy's shape just up to the fourth. I could pinpoint the moment he'd found my true form from the glint in his eyes.

"It has, hasn't it? You'll have to forgive me for not recognising you straight away. We higher beings rarely ever concern ourselves with what you lesser spirits do. But seeing that guise… it does refresh my memory. I recall pursuing you while you protected your master—the same one you're impersonating in such detail." His stare was filled with contempt. "But that was what—two thousand years ago?"

"Two thousand, one hundred and twenty-nine years ago," I corrected, and Nathaniel gasped—Lord knows why.

Asmodeus ignored me. "I must say I'm a bit disappointed, Bartimaeus," he continued idly, glancing at a couple of humans hiding and whimpering behind a desk. "There are rumours you _merged_ with magician John Mandrake over there and didn't take over his brain, that you killed the great Nouda with Gladstone's Staff of all things. These are all serious accusations, Bartimaeus. But you know me—I'm a merciful judge. What do you have to say in your defence?"

What do you say to this load of codswallop? I considered telling Asmodeus to shove his merciful judging in a place where the sun didn't shine, following that with a rude gesture and a Detonation to the head, but with three humans behind me, I was stymied. Even if I tried to jump out the window with them now, speed would fail me. Besides, my essence was spinning so fast and so hot that the edges of my vision had blurred.

"If you have business with me, that's one thing. But the others have nothing to do with it. Let them go," Nathaniel said thickly. And very dumbly. He was still shaking, that idiot.

"Are you stupid?" Kitty demanded, ever the observant one. "He'll tear you apart!"

"Please leave. This is a hospital," Sam tried to reason in a timid voice. "You caused enough damage last time." There was the confirmation. At least one of them was properly intimidated, because really, wasn't this the perfect opportunity for chatter. Right when the murderous hybrid was ready to strike. Some people really don't know when to shut up.

"I'm just here to finish the job," Asmodeus replied, keeping up the calm and composed act. "If you stand aside and let me take him, I'll try not to destroy the entire building."

"Very well," the suicidal imbecile said, rolling his chair forward.

"Are you trying to be a martyr again?" I asked incredulously, pulling the chair back with one hand. My rage was boiling so hard I was surprised my essence wasn't trying to spill from my ears.

"I'm just doing what's right—"

Asmodeus sent a Detonation in warning. The Amulet absorbed it, of course, but I could still feel the heat in my face. It wouldn't matter in the grand scheme of things. He wasn't a spirit anymore—not really—so when it came down to it, he'd gleefully punch me out the window and the Amulet wouldn't be able to absorb him.

Asmodeus gave me a knowing, mocking look. "Again, Bartimaeus?"

The image of a young boy bleeding out and left alone to die flashed in my mind. My essence steamed, making my extremities undoubtedly smoky. "Shut it, Asmodeus," I growled.

"I do remember how his cries echoed in that chamber. He was left to die all by himself too. Such a frail little human…"

"You absolute wanker," Kitty barked as she stomped forward to stand beside me, surprising everyone in the room, even Asmodeus, and snapping me out of it. "I thought spirits took no pleasure in their kills. After all, aren't they all ordered by magicians?"

Asmodeus shrugged, clearly unbothered by her observations, perhaps even a little amused. "Listen, girlie, I don't know what that blithering idiot told you, but the smartest among us feel no moral obligation towards any human. So I'd shut my mouth if I were you." He sounded eerily cheerful about this too, which wiped out my already little guilt regarding the unprofessional grudge I was holding.

Kitty had barely growled out a, "Bite me, arsehole," when the nearest water cooler slammed against Asmodeus, bursting in the process. Guessing that that probably wouldn't do much in the long run, I threw the vending machine as well. Luckily for me, he clearly hadn't been expecting a non-magical attack. Several canned drinks exploded as the machine dragged him back to the other end of the corridor, bringing me much bliss.

"What?" I asked the three bewildered humans. "Would you rather I threw the expensive medical equipment instead?"

No one protested. I swiftly changed into a bulky, four-armed youth with angel wings—just to give Asmodeus one last middle finger—and fired two Detonations at the wall to make a big enough opening for the four of us. Then I grabbed my three wide-eyed charges and flew out the window.

He wouldn't stay down for long, and I had already left an Asmodeus-shaped indentation on a wall, so I had to get out of the hospital to avoid further damage. It left me speechless that Asmodeus would come to a hospital of his own free will to avenge his—what? Boss? Idol? I didn't really know what to label Nouda, with the possible exception of _utterly bonkers_.

The cold wind hit my face as soon as we were out of the hospital. Night had fallen, but I doubted that would help us much. When Nathaniel and I had merged, my vision hadn't been impaired in the slightest; there was no reason for Asmodeus's to be less than perfect.

A mass of people had gathered in the gardens, half of them wearing hospital attire. I spotted a few security guards working in tandem with medical staff to carry out patients who couldn't walk. The horlas were going mad in their search, inspecting everyone at random to find the culprit and very nearly giving people heart attacks. I would have loved to tell them that that really wasn't the point of a hospital, but that would just keep the cycle going.

When we landed by the fountain, Sam and Kitty immediately wiggled out of my grip, both groaning and complaining about the flying. Nathaniel looked a little green himself, but it was hard to tell if it'd been from the trip or his general reaction to the attack.

"So this is the thanks I get. What an ungrateful race," I said indignantly, betraying my tone by gently putting Nathaniel down. There was no telling what vomit did to one's essence, and I wasn't keen on finding out.

"Bartimaeus, you fly like a drunken bird," Nathaniel rasped with a grimace. He swayed a bit, but didn't faceplant, which I'd count as a point in favour of my flying skills regardless of what he said.

"BARTIMAEUS!" Asmodeus roared from the opening I'd made just moments ago, attracting the attention of everyone in the gardens. There were gasps and whimpers all around. "Come and face me, you traitor!"

Honestly, what a melodramatic performance. This was why we were losing our reputation among magicians and commoners alike. Who was going to fear such a prima donna? By this point I half expected him to produce a sword and challenge me to a duel for the honour of beheading Nathaniel. Really, after all I'd endured, like hell anyone else would get the chance.

"We need to move," Nathaniel whined, putting a hand to the fountain's edge to support himself and touching his side with the other. His face was pinched.

"Right. Kitty, you and Sam try to find a phone or an imp. Police and fire services first. And then—you said Piper was at an event in Richmond, right?" Kitty nodded. "Call her, message her, whatever you can do."

"What about you?" she asked anxiously. This was some sort of cruel déjà vu for sure.

"Mandrake and I will get that lunatic away from the crowd. We can't risk a fight here."

Sam's eyes widened. "That's really not—"

"Can't talk," I cut him off. Asmodeus had spotted us and was flexing his wings. I hastily grabbed Nathaniel and took to the skies, Asmodeus immediately following. "What do you say, Nat? For old times' sake?"

"Hope not. Hearing your chattering _outside_ my head is bad enough."

"Good to know you still have some fight left in you," I retorted as I dove out of the way of a Detonation. The Amulet was fun and all, but it wasn't on my back, and my Shields would only do so well against an afrit.

Nathaniel hissed when the Detonation hit a tree, immediately setting it on fire. "You need to fly lower and over the river."

"I'm not sure he'll be weak to water now," I protested, turning towards the Thames anyway and heading upstream.

"He clearly didn't like to have that water cooler thrown at him," he pointed out. "And this way he won't hit people."

Fair point. "Well, if we don't drown him, maybe he'll faint from the smell."

"Come back here, you coward!" Asmodeus shouted, firing another set of Detonations. The chase was getting old and we were barely two minutes in.

I ducked and spun out of the way of three with the grace of an airborne ballerina, but the fourth grazed my left wing. I cursed as I kept flying and spinning. Asmodeus wasn't stopping anytime soon. Meanwhile, Nathaniel hung on for dear life, digging his nails in my shoulders even though I was using two very strong and very capable arms to carry him. Honestly, I'd cut his nails this week! The sheer unfairness of this situation, I tell you.

"You could at least look over my shoulder and tell me what to expect!"

That stunned him silent for a moment. Then Nathaniel replied quite petulantly with: "You're a djinni! Grow eyes on your back, you fool!"

"Oh. Right." Taking his advice, I put a pair of eyes between my wings. Nathaniel muttered something about how I was always conveniently shirtless, but I was surely hearing things. After all, the wind was hissing violently in my ears and Asmodeus hadn't stopped shouting obscenities in a multitude of languages. It was _foul_ , I tell you. "Let's see—oh! The horlas have finally worked out what's happening. It didn't take them the usual century." Indeed, they were hot on his tail, but Asmodeus was too enraged to slow down, so they wouldn't reach him soon.

Nathaniel seemed to be thinking along the same lines. "If the horlas get him…"

"Way ahead of you, Nat," I sang, giving him a mischievous smirk. He squinted ahead before turning to me and mirroring my expression. I'd almost forgot the old thrill of doing reckless things with him. Usually he was appalled, sometimes confused, but after our last stunt he must have absorbed some of my sense of humour. It was about time.

As we approached Lambeth Bridge, I began slowing down as imperceptibly as I could. Asmodeus kept going at full speed, his fangs bared in triumph. The horlas struggled to keep the pace. The closer we came to the bridge, the more grateful I was for its steel and concrete structure.

"Might as well give up now, traitor!" Asmodeus sounded closer than ever. He was right where I wanted him.

Just as it seemed I would fly over the bridge, I suddenly dove under an arch with vertiginous speed. Asmodeus kept going, aimed, and let out a handful of Detonations. But I had screeched nearly to a halt under the bridge and swiftly turned around, drawing a perfect semicircle on the water. In hindsight, he probably killed some fish, if there were still any surviving in these stinky waters.

The look on Asmodeus's face was priceless. He looked so gobsmacked you'd think I had actually smacked him across the face. Nathaniel seemed to think so too. He had twisted his head around to watch and I could feel his grin forming against my cheek. It was almost a pity when the horlas obscured him from my vision. But I would store that image for later. Now it was best to keep flying at top speed and let them handle it.

* * *

It didn't take much for the hospital to discharge Nathaniel. I suspected they were growing tired of hybrid attacks. And believe you me, so was I.

Dr Elgar and Sam didn't seem happy about this premature discharge, but I'd wager the former just wanted to keep examining Nathaniel until she cracked the mystery. At least Sam had shown genuine concern. It was in that endless hour of examining and bureaucracy that I noticed Nathaniel had grown somewhat attached.

Well, certainly not to _everyone_. Nathaniel seemed to view Dr Elgar as neutral territory for now, likewise for the nurses who came when Sam was off duty. His physiotherapist—Naomi? Noelle? None of my business?—had taken the brunt of his bad temper for sure. But Nathaniel treated Sam well—in a friendly manner even, which would be surprising if Sam hadn't already proved that he could probably cure terminal diseases with the power of a blinding smile and kind patience. It was positively disturbing.

But I digress. After Nathaniel was effectively discharged with a lengthy prescription and proper admonishment for his eating habits, Piper finally showed up looking like she'd attended a funeral. (4) She took her time examining him and Kitty before forcing us all inside her car.

(4) It baffles me too. Well, I suppose humans' senses of fashion have always eluded me. For one thing, no one listened to me when I said the hobble skirt was a mistake, yet I was the one who had to catch all those French ladies whenever they had to walk anywhere. Garden parties were a big human domino effect.

And that's how the four of us ended up in Nathaniel's kitchen at late hours, three of us looking ready to pass out on top of the table. (5) So far, Nathaniel had forced Piper to tell him what was going on with the hybrids and the hospital, which somehow had led to Kitty explaining their absence throughout the week—in other words, the tale of her midnight scare. Now there was only silence, unfocused gazes, and a very bored djinni.

(5) I draw the line here. If it's not obvious who the three are, then I can't help you.

"So," I cheerily began when the silence became too deafening, "what's next?"

Piper shrugged half-heartedly, not moving the blank stare from her tea. "There are a few parties searching for Asmodeus as we speak, but I haven't received any updates. Apparently, Mr Brunetti—he was at the fundraiser—volunteered to help, but no one else did, obviously. Not that I think he can do much. He'll probably want something in return afterwards too." Then she groaned in frustration. "The press is going to have a field day tomorrow."

"It'll certainly be exciting. Nearly as much as when that guy Jesus allegedly resurrected." I sighed wistfully. "Farquarl always had fun scaring humans silly. I have to say, for all his eccentricities, he sure pulled some hilarious pranks when the mood called for it. Pity he let the whole world domination thing take over his life."

The three of them stared at me. I could tell Kitty was trying not to laugh and failing miserably. Piper cleared her throat. "For now, we need to make sure panic doesn't spread. It's become clear over the past weeks that the hybrid situation hasn't been going as well as we'd hoped. We've been able to contain the minor incidents, but this… The press won't go easy on us." After a pause, she added, "If it _hadn't_ escaped…"

Before I could throw an apple at her, Nathaniel said, "We did everything we could." I blinked at him, wondering if I'd somehow hit his head against a wall or a tree during our escape. "Bartimaeus couldn't hope to overpower an afrit." I opened my mouth to protest, but he wasn't done. "Besides, if he hadn't forced Asmodeus out of the hospital, who knows what would've happened."

"I'm not trying to imply it's your fault," Piper said slowly, giving me a serious look. "I'm glad you were there at all, Bartimaeus. If I'd had my way when Kitty first brought you in, who knows what would have happened to Mr Mandrake."

A pause. "Damn right."

"The press certainly won't put it that way," Kitty weighed in, sending another wave of optimism throughout the room.

Nathaniel had been slowly but surely lowering his face to the table since Piper had put a mug in front of him. There was only enough room between his chin and the table for me to flick his chin. I almost did out of sheer boredom.

But Piper's distress must have got to him. He forced himself to straighten up and grace us with his wisdom. "Well, I wouldn't worry too much about the press. Just be sure to address everything properly in a press release to avoid speculation. For starters, my condition was kept a secret for safety reasons, so that's that. Now that there are no magicians staying at St Thomas, it shouldn't be attacked again. From what you've told me, there are teams pursuing the hybrids, and you have alerted nearby cities as well. You may need more resources there, but at least you're not sitting around doing nothing like the former council would have. As for the damage done by Bartimaeus, I'll take care of it."

That little speech seemed to take a serious amount of effort. When he was done, Nathaniel fell back against his chair, breathing a little irregularly. Meanwhile, Piper looked as though Nathaniel had offered her an early Christmas present. Honestly, this woman needed to take a sip from the fountain of confidence the former council had seemed to bathe in. Sometimes it was hard to believe she was a magician at all. On the other hand, Kitty seemed vaguely impressed by Nathaniel's words. No doubt her being there had influenced him to be all breezy about this. He was probably fuming that he hadn't been offered a seat in council yet, even though he'd been discharged from the hospital only four hours before.

"Well, you heard him," Kitty said after a while. "We'll deal with it in the morning. Now we should go and let him get some rest. I don't know about you, but I could sleep for a week."

"Granny," I whispered. Kitty narrowed her eyes at me, but said nothing.

Piper's eyes widened as she noticed Nathaniel's state. "Oh, right." She hesitated before adding, "Do you need anything?"

Nathaniel gave her a half smile. "No, thank you. I'm going straight to bed now."

"Of course. We'll be back in the morning, but if you need anything—"

"Yes, I know," he said gently. I'd never heard him being gentle with anyone. He must be running quite the fever. "And you can call me Nathaniel, by the way. I know you know, and I think we're past formalities now."

First he'd told Kitty, and now Rebecca Piper, _the_ Prime Minister of England. You'd think he hadn't thrown a fit when I found out. But no, it was the demon he had to worry about, not the person with the means to destroy him. Human logic.

And Piper looked delighted by this permission, of course. "Thank you, Nathaniel." She smiled. "Goodnight."

I maintain that an eye roll was the only appropriate reaction to this. Kitty caught me and shook her head at me as she grinned.

"Goodnight," Kitty echoed, already at the door. She motioned with her head for Piper to follow and exited the room. Then she remembered something and stuck her head back in. "Bartimaeus, be nice."

I glared at her. "Just go away." She laughed and, with a mock salute, finally left. The front door closed with a soft click shortly afterwards.

The silence stretched for quite a while this time around. Nathaniel took a few sips of his tea, not saying anything, but clearly going over everything for the hundredth time. After a while, I got up and took the mugs Kitty and Piper had left on the table. I washed them as he drank, for lack of a better thing to do, engaging in self-disgust as soon as I noticed what I was doing.

Not for the first time I noticed how this kitchen barely looked lived in, with its pristine granite countertops and empty dish drainer. If I opened the fridge, I doubted I would find much of anything. Which would make sense given how long it'd been since he was home, but this was no different from before. With the addition of Nathaniel's human perception still rattling my mind, and naturally years of personal observation, this kitchen felt about as homely as his hospital room. Perhaps even less so, since no one brought him flowers here. My essence lurched uncomfortably as I looked at him hunched over his tea, in his frail, vulnerable body, continuously shrouded in the shadow of responsibility. Right then I couldn't help thinking that he looked very lonely.

"Bartimaeus?" he called in a small voice, snapping me out of my bizarre train of thought.

"Hm?"

"I can't move."

Now he had my full attention. "You can't move?" I immediately began looking him up and down, trying to figure out what was wrong. To me he looked as puny as always.

And because 'surprise' was the word of the day, Nathaniel gave me a sheepish look. I nearly pinched myself. "I meant that I don't think I can walk. The adrenaline must have worn off." When I did nothing but blink back at him, Nathaniel cleared his throat and elaborated, "Adrenaline is the hormone responsible for—"

"Yes, I know what it is. Don't give me that look—I've been around for five thousand years."

He shut his mouth, but just for a moment. I knew what he was implying, and regardless of the fact that his body was probably beyond exhausted thanks to all the fun we'd had that day, I'd already figured I would have to carry him to his room. For one thing, his wheelchair certainly wouldn't get him up the stairs and, regardless of how well his physiotherapy sessions were progressing, climbing stairs still seemed like a daunting obstacle, especially today.

Finally, he said, "Right. I'm sure it'll wear off in a bit. I'll just sit here and finish my tea meanwhile. Kitty gave you free rein, right? Must be nice; you can go wherever you like." He topped it off with what he must have thought was a genuine and brave smile.

This stubborn, idiotic tosser. For the second time that day, the appropriate response was nothing short of a rude gesture. But that was it. If he wasn't going to grace me with the request, then I sure as hell wasn't going to offer to do it for him, no sir. I wasn't his slave anymore and he was absolutely correct in stating that I could go wherever I wanted.

"Right. Goodnight, then." And I turned and left, just like that.

Freedom is bliss. Let's see… where should I go first? France sounded nice. I'd get to point and make fun of all the ways fashion was being ruined these days. Ah, Greece. All those old temples were in dire need of mischievous spirits echoing madness to make the tourists run. Maybe I'd visit Prague again; I'd enjoyed the chaos of that city.

My footsteps ceased when I reached the front door. The image of him sitting by himself in the kitchen wouldn't leave me, nor would the look on his face when we'd heard the first explosion. Mentally swearing in French, Greek and Czech, I stomped my way back to the kitchen, only to find him leaning heavily against his chair, his skinny rear halfway out of the chair and his arms trembling from the effort.

That only annoyed me further. "You're a bloody idiot," I said, shoving a finger in his face for emphasis.

His surprise melted into faint annoyance. He struggled in vain to get upright. "Did you come back just for that? That's nothing you haven't said before, is it? At least come up with a new insult if you're going to make a dramatic return." All this was said with the healthy and potent breath of someone's granny, such was his current lung capacity.

Regardless, it robbed me of some steam. I reckoned he was too tired to get riled up, so I was forced to play that role instead. Stupid Nathaniel. I should have dropped him in the Thames to spare me all this trouble. "You'll get more effort in new insults when your actions deserve original content. Continuing to act recklessly and stupidly doesn't fill the criteria. Now ask me what you need before I change my mind."

"Aren't you hurt?" he motioned with his head to my arm, craning his neck a little to try and see it. I was back in Ptolemy's guise, and the small wound had transferred from my wing to my arm. It still stung a little, but there was nothing I could do besides wait it out.

"Please, who do you think I am? I barely feel it."

He nodded, seemingly pleased to learn that. Git. "Regardless, I told you I wouldn't summon you again after... you know." I raised an eyebrow at his blatant avoidance. If he couldn't even call it by its name, then it was worse than I'd thought. "I meant it. I won't ask you for anything anymore."

Such timing for self-improvement, eh? "You do realise that I stayed at the hospital as your babysitter and bodyguard for two whole weeks, yes? What is it now? Did you find a better djinni now that you have options? One who comes free of backtalk and doesn't know all sorts of weird secrets, hm?"

Nathaniel gave me an incredulous look. "You are being ridiculous. _Kitty_ made you stay. You two are such great friends now that you do her _favours_."

"Green isn't a good colour on you, Nat. Really, you were just short of throwing yourself in front of her today. And they say chivalry is dead."

He managed to look genuinely confused when he said, "What are you talking about?" But he wasn't fooling me. "I saw no point in the four of us dying if Asmodeus just wanted me. Or of him destroying the entire hospital." He paused, staring at me and seeming to debate whether he should say more. "Besides, what would be the point of you dying after I used what little strength I had left then to dismiss you?" The intensity in his gaze contradicted his soft tone.

Suddenly the air in the kitchen felt denser. Nathaniel swallowed thickly and I reckoned it couldn't be my imagination if he could feel it too. Who knew how he was breathing this air? I checked the higher planes. No, I wasn't doing anything. Strange.

Finally I cleared my throat and said, "I suppose that makes sense." Before it could get even more awkward, I added, "But Kitty has been studying up on punishments and finding you sprawled on the kitchen floor certainly wouldn't look good. So shut up and let me get you to bed."

Nathaniel blinked. "…Okay."

It only occurred to me after I'd left him in his room that I'd done exactly what he'd wanted from the start.

* * *

Two hours later, a sand cat settled on the roof. It studied the waning moon with great attention as it absently scratched an itching spot behind one large ear with a muddied paw. There had been light showers all night, making the ground wet and the air smell earthy. Midnight sounds in London were rarely ever nature-induced, but tonight there were the waterdrops from leaves and roofs into small puddles on the ground, and the odd frog croaking and disappearing behind foliage.

All was calm at last.

By all accounts, Nathaniel knew what he was doing; he'd rigged the place with defences before leaving. Good thing for him that he'd been smart enough not to specify the timeframe for the sentries and foliots to be around. Not so great for them, obviously. He'd also been clever enough to employ a spherical Nexus instead of the typical dome. (6) Then there were the Hexes. They were multiple and all very nasty-looking. I'd nearly got my tail caught in one on the way to the roof and let me tell you—I did not like the malicious energy coming off it. No wonder none of his enemies had been able to land a hit.

(6) So I'd checked. Really, with our luck, Asmodeus or some other hybrid would come barrelling in and screaming bloody murder. Afrits weren't any fonder of diving underground than djinn, but if it hadn't deterred me from breaking into Lovelace's house, then it surely wouldn't stop a hybrid.

But it wasn't Nathaniel's fortress that occupied my thoughts that night. Rather it was Asmodeus and, by extension, Ptolemy. I didn't much like to think about Ptolemy's death. For one thing, it was pointless. For another, reliving it never cheered me up; it certainly didn't feel any easier now than it had two thousand, one hundred and twenty-nine years ago.

No, I'd rather think about Ptolemy at his best—studying, asking a plethora of questions at vertiginous speed, searching the market for anchovy bread. The sand cat smiled. Ptolemy sure had loved his anchovy bread. But all his passion and knowledge hadn't mattered in the end. To die just aged fourteen, thus robbing the world of such understanding and wisdom, and us spirits of the promised change to come, was beyond cruel.

For millennia it hadn't mattered to me who had done it or who had ordered it. I cared nothing for human wars and falling empires; it didn't matter which flag the killer had been waving. In the end, they'd all died too. And I couldn't blame fellow spirits from carrying out their tasks; after all, I would've done the same. Simple as that.

For millennia that logic had been enough. I'd carried Ptolemy's memory with me. I'd mourned a human. I'd sometimes worked with the spirits who had killed him, but we don't talk or brag about killing defenceless children. There is hardly anything noble or fun about it, is there?

A whimper startled the sand cat. Its ears twitched as the sounds continued, tracing its source back to the room below. The cat approached the rain gutter and, favouring its front left leg, hopped to a tree branch and then to the windowsill. Looking through the window and the space left between the curtains, the cat spotted a human twisting in bed. Checking planes two through seven didn't reveal a second presence in the room.

Another nightmare, then. Nathaniel had experienced a few in the hospital, but he'd usually just say gibberish and move a little. He'd wake up from hurting his side or his shoulder, sometimes from unknowingly pulling at the IV drip. It was taking him a while now, but I certainly didn't know how to calm him down. So I watched and waited until he eventually settled down. Meanwhile I fruitlessly tried to scratch at the itch below my ear. Annoyed, I changed into an owl and sighed as both the itch and the ever-present ache disappeared for the moment.

Feeling more clear-headed after the change, I allowed my thoughts to return to Asmodeus. I didn't know if he'd never had a kind master, or what horrible traumas he'd been subjected to. Really, after Ptolemy's death, I hadn't seen much of him. What I knew was that he'd stepped on the basic rules of decency among spirits: one, he'd gloated about a cruel kill, and two, he'd willingly left the Other Place to go on a killing spree, not caring if he had to kill fellow spirits to accomplish his goals. Not even Nouda had been that revolting.

Besides, my popularity back home had noticeably slipped. Even those who had opposed Farquarl's plans were mad at me. Needless to say that my stay hadn't been welcome and peaceful this time around. And this I'd happily blame on the hybrids.

Nathaniel mumbled something that sounded like begging and the owl shut its eyes with a sigh. Okay, fine—three, Asmodeus had targeted yet another (almost) defenceless human whom I happened not to hate anymore. He'd also not cared how many innocent people _and spirits_ that would put at risk.

I wasn't daft—the only reason we'd made it out alive was because Asmodeus had never assumed I'd attack him, even after hearing all those rumours about Nathaniel and I working together to bring down the hybrids. Under normal circumstances, I suppose I wouldn't have. And under normal circumstances, I would happily go home and leave this problem to the humans.

But it was personal now. Asmodeus was going down if that was the last thing I did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to anjumstar for being her usual awesome self and finding the silliest mistakes. It could be argued that there'd be a lot more comedy without her edits, but you know how obsessed I am with linguistics.


	10. the world is spinning on our time

_Nathaniel_

In a white-tiled bathroom stood a naked young man with pasty skin and a prominent ribcage. His blue gaze pierced the mirror as he found fault in every millimetre of his visible self. There were the tiny, fading scars on his face, neck and hands, hollow cheeks and empty eyes, the angry red scar on his right shoulder he often traced with his fingertips just to feel the sharp, thin line between life and death.

The hand moved south towards the belly button, which was abnormally titled to the left, the skin surrounding it pulled up to converge on the ugly scar on his side. There were two fist-sized, reddish brown bumps, coarse like dunes, now covered in a fatty cream he had to apply twice a day. He inhaled deeply, his ribcage sticking out further and the skin stretching uncomfortably, pulling at the stitches on his side.

His gaze remained indifferent throughout all this, like it was watching a stranger instead. After what seemed like a long time, Nathaniel taped the dressing back on with a resigned sigh. He mindlessly padded around the bathroom, stuffing his pyjamas in the laundry hamper and getting dressed in what he now considered his exercise clothes—a faded black t-shirt and equally worn black trousers.

Thinking back on the previous week revealed it as a blurry sequence of events in his brain. First, the press was behaving like a dog with a bone, and it didn't seem like it'd calm down soon. Piper came to visit every day with all sorts of bizarre tales that greatly amused Kitty, who seemed to be expertly dodging the unwanted attention. They'd assured him that nothing too bad was being written, which Nathaniel couldn't confirm because he refused to read any article that mentioned the Glass Palace. But he figured it made sense; most newspapers were probably still afraid of going too far for fear that the government would try to silence them.

Second, Nathaniel found that being alive came with a lot of mail, most of it asking him for interviews, with the odd declaration of love thrown in the batch, and the good old amateur poisoned letter too. Nathaniel couldn't decide which was worse: the poisoned letters or the love letters. Bartimaeus enjoyed both equally and was having a lot of fun lighting those on fire while singing some deranged lyrics about a 'Disco Inferno'. Nathaniel didn't know what sort of spell a 'Disco Inferno' was, but he certainly didn't want to find out.

Nathaniel wasn't daft, though. He doubted the press would stay away from his house, but he also doubted they would try anything too risky. So far, Bartimaeus had spotted a few suspicious individuals walking by or idly sitting at a distance, apparently engaged in other things. Nathaniel was almost certain they'd been followed on Thursday, when he'd left for his check-up at the hospital. But since no one had jumped at them, he'd assumed it was just the press and therefore didn't care. Doubly so, since Dr Elgar had told him things were looking good.

If only he could feel it. His side still wasn't happy about all the stretching and 'light' weightlifting, much less the 'light' cardio. They could call it whatever they wanted, but 'light' it was not. Nathaniel was always panting and sweaty by the end, not to mention red in the face. If he heard Bartimaeus call him strawberry cheeks one more time, he'd take him to the grocer's and introduce him to other fruit and vegetables, broaden his world a bit. Nathaniel was beyond hoping Bartimaeus would just stop with the comments, so that was the next best thing.

He was also beyond hoping that Bartimaeus would stop with the morning ritual. Really, it had become sort of tradition over the past week to have Bartimaeus barge into his room in Ptolemy's form with breakfast in tow. The problem was that instead of wearing just the usual loincloth, Bartimaeus had chosen to don the fluffiest mittens and apron in the world. Nathaniel didn't know if this was another form of torture or if Bartimaeus was overcompensating for not using his usual grotesque guises. Which didn't make much sense on its own, but very little did where Bartimaeus was concerned. Regardless, it was getting hard not to laugh. Just the thought made the corners of his lips twitch.

And that wouldn't do. Nathaniel put his robe over his clothes—it was cold, and he wasn't going to exercise right now—and opened the door to his bedroom. But what he found was not what he'd expected. For starters, there were no signs of Bartimaeus—there was no breakfast tray, the curtains were still drawn, and his sanity was still intact. However, as he approached his unmade bed and obsessively checked that his sketchbook hadn't been moved a millimetre, he noticed there was a small note lying on the bed.

Nathaniel inwardly debated for a moment on whether he should pick it up—this could have only come from Bartimaeus, after all, and the chances of it being a prank were high. Curiosity got the best of him in the end.

Nothing jumped at him, and the paper didn't burst into flames. No, it was a note written on cheerfully designed paper with pink hearts galore. It read, "So we don't give you a heart attack today." There was the symbol for the heart instead of the word, because this note wasn't ridiculous enough already. He turned it around. "Kitty and Piper brought cake. Act surprised."

Nathaniel figured only the limited amount of space had made Bartimaeus get straight to the point. Such a bizarre note. Had Bartimaeus done this so he wouldn't jump out of his skin? After what had happened at the hospital… Could that also be why there was always music playing in the house and the startling kept to a minimum? Why Bartimaeus never chose to impersonate a gruesome mythological creature these days? If that were true, then Nathaniel felt even worse about being privy to Bartimaeus's memories of Ptolemy. And worse still for having him around.

But it couldn't be. Or that was what he'd say if they hadn't shared a mind. Bartimaeus had done a lot of things he didn't have to do, even before Nathaniel had woken up from his coma, and even before Kitty had bullied them into joining minds. But no, this was too much. Someone must have told him to. Perhaps Kitty or Piper, perhaps Dr Elgar or Sam. Still…

No. He was reading too much into it. He swallowed the errant feeling down as he folded the note in two and put it in his robe's pocket, deciding he'd dispose of it later. Now he needed to act surprised.

* * *

There were too many balloons.

That was the first thought that registered once the lights were on and confetti rained down, making a huge mess on the floor. The second was that he was glad he hadn't showered yet. Then came the singing. Nathaniel simply stood there uncomfortably as Kitty and Piper clapped and sang like he imagined two normal people would—somewhat softly and keeping to the melody—and then…

And then there was Bartimaeus. He was belting it out, harmonising, and doing all sorts of runs that would sound impressive to someone more musically inclined than Nathaniel. But that wasn't all—no, Bartimaeus was also pirouetting around the kitchen, kicking the balloons everywhere and miraculously not bursting a single one. Piper and Kitty kept giving him looks and he knew this hadn't been planned at all.

By the end he wasn't sure who should be clapping for whom. But the ridiculousness of it all cracked him up before he could decide. Nathaniel laughed so loudly and for so long that the three of them had no choice but to join in. It sounded strange to his ears—he didn't remember ever laughing before, not like this, much less having others laughing along with him and not at him. It filled him up from within.

After they all calmed down, Kitty came forward to give him a hug, kicking balloons everywhere to reach him. "Happy birthday," she whispered. He gave her a gentle squeeze in acknowledgement, not trusting his voice.

He'd been seeing a lot more of Kitty these days, and every time he did, she looked younger. The lines on her face weren't as harsh as before, and she moved with more ease. As for her hair, her natural dark roots were proudly showing now and had reached eye level, but the rest was still grey. She'd told him she wouldn't dye it; she'd rather wait it out and see if her body continued the process on its own. Besides, she'd grown fond of it. It certainly suited her, but that wasn't for him to decide.

After they broke apart, Piper followed, practically tackling him and squeezing him so hard he couldn't breathe for a bit. It felt like she'd been meaning to do this for some time, which in turn made him think of all the long hours and brainstorming sessions they'd spent together. Nathaniel squeezed back.

When Piper was done smothering him, she cupped his face and gave him a radiant smile. "May this be the first of many birthdays that we celebrate together." Nathaniel nodded and smiled right back, swallowing down the telling tightness in his throat. He very much wanted that.

After Martha Underwood, no one had bothered with his birthday—not with learning when it was, much less celebrating it. Which wasn't surprising since he had never had friends, not real ones, but going through such an extreme event together had seemed to accelerate something—at least he hoped that was what it was. Now that he knew what had kept Piper and Kitty from visiting him, there was no reason to be resentful. He was just humbled they'd tried so hard when neither had anything to gain from it.

When Piper let him go, Nathaniel noticed Bartimaeus was standing back and examining the cake as Kitty told him she'd bought it the previous night at Edward Norwood's bakery, so of course it wasn't poisoned. Watching Bartimaeus sniffing a birthday cake while surrounded by balloons of every possible shade was something Nathaniel had never envisioned. It was both ridiculous and decidedly unprecedented, just like most things with Bartimaeus.

"Lemon sponge cake," Bartimaeus decided. "Definitely hints of mint and ginger." And then, after a dramatic pause: "He's recovering from a coma, not a cold!"

Kitty replied quite petulantly with, "He didn't strike me as a chocolate person!"

"So you got him glorified throat medicine?"

"Don't be like that, Bartimaeus. It's actually quite good. I've had it once or twice in the past," Piper diplomatically intervened.

Overcome by a sudden, alien wave of affection for the three of them, Nathaniel stayed rooted to the spot during that entire exchange. Well, he certainly wasn't expecting Bartimaeus to wish him a happy birthday, much less hug him—that'd be preposterous. To be honest, he hadn't been expecting hugs at all. Besides, Bartimaeus probably wouldn't understand the significance of birthdays anyway. Yet, here he was, discussing cake flavours like it was the most important thing in the world. It was a wonder he'd even participated—ah, it was for the performance, of course.

Still… As the three of them sat there eating cake while Bartimaeus let his mouth run like usual, Nathaniel had to viciously fight the smiles that kept wanting to form. Because Bartimaeus simply wasn't funny and he shouldn't be encouraged in the slightest.

Somewhere in the back of his head a wayward thought whispered that he'd never been this happy, and Nathaniel swallowed another bite of cake, trying not to think too hard about it.

Instead he thought that Piper was right—he hadn't eaten a cake this delicious in his entire life.

* * *

Later that morning, after they'd all settled down and Nathaniel had mustered the courage to climb the stairs back to the third floor, Piper came to find him in his library. Nathaniel discreetly put aside his notes and books he'd been looking over—not wanting to have to explain why he was doing anything besides relaxing—as she settled in front of him like she had many times before. The familiar picture brought a sense of steadiness to his otherwise jumbled mind.

"I'm loath to do this on your birthday," she started, nervously squirming and staring over his shoulder at the books lining the walls, "but I have a favour to ask."

Nathaniel frowned. This was a first, but he didn't think he was in a position to refuse. Nor did he want to, which was new and a bit alarming, but nothing he couldn't stomach. "Of course."

Piper's smile was tremulous and instantly worried him. "Can Kitty and I move in with you?" she blurted out before he could ask her if something was wrong. Nathaniel sat there stunned for a moment, something which Piper probably took as a refusal, because she immediately started explaining herself. "It's just… I rushed into a promise before thinking… I told Mr Button I would give up my house. He's trying to get the deceased magicians' houses for a programme to reduce homelessness in London, which is especially important after recent events, so you'd think everyone would be on board, but—" She sighed in exasperation. "Most of the magicians in the council are fighting it, and I thought I should set the example, and well—It's absolutely fine if you say no! I can get another place, but Kitty… Kitty needs to stay somewhere safe, and I figured your house is probably the safest place at the moment, especially since I'll be leaving for a bit soon. But really, it's alright if you—"

"Piper," he interrupted her, raising a hand for good measure, "that's a lot of information and I'm a bit confused right now." Which was an understatement. A programme to reduce homelessness? How had he not heard of that? And Piper giving up her own house? Did Kitty even know about this? And why was she leaving? Where was she going? For how long? But Nathaniel chose not to bombard her with all of those questions. She was already twitchy enough. He had to go about this slowly. So he started by asking, "Does Kitty know about this?"

"Not yet," Piper admitted, deflating a bit. "But I thought I should ask you first. If you said no, then there wouldn't be a point in bringing it up with her."

"Indeed. But does she know that you're leaving? Or is that confidential information?"

"It is not exactly confidential, but it is sensitive information."

Nathaniel nodded. "Alright, I understand that."

But he didn't like the idea. Nathaniel wasn't sure what he wanted to do with his life from now on—if politics was the way for him at all or if he should choose a completely different path—but he'd grown used to being kept in the loop at all times, so this was a bit infuriating. He'd learned his lesson at the hospital, however. Right now, there was no telling how he'd react when faced with uncomfortable situations—Asmodeus showing up at the hospital had made his anxiety peak. But there was more to it than that. His anger often crept up on him with worrying speed. He flinched at sudden movements and noises. He always had to open his closet and all the drawers in his room before finally going to sleep, look behind the curtains with his heart in his throat, and still he'd have nightmares that would leave him in a pool of sweat. Worse still—sometimes he'd forget the order of the events leading up to his near-death experience, or lose memories for a bit, and that brought a cold kind of panic he'd never experienced before.

Piper's voice cut through his thoughts. "I really don't want to make you feel uncomfortable at a time like this. I can only try to imagine what it's been like for you, staying here by yourself—well, with Bartimaeus." She made a face. "I'm not sure what's worse."

Nathaniel's lip twitched in amusement, his grim thoughts dissolving into the back of his mind. "He's behaving for the most part."

"I should hope so. He was acting off when he told us about your birthday."

More new information. Bartimaeus had told Piper and Kitty about his birthday? Well, he supposed someone had had to. Still, it seemed that eighteen came with a lot more questions than answers. "How so?"

"Oh, it's hard to explain. He kept saying we shouldn't celebrate it, because the press would pick up on it. And since the government isn't the same anymore, there could be a leak of information if someone started looking at birth certificates. Who knows if they destroyed all the evidence, etc. Really, he went on for a while. Then Kitty told him we'd buy you cake and he just shrugged and shut up."

Nathaniel said nothing. In the past he would have shrugged this off, chalked it up to Bartimaeus's incomprehensible whimsy, but now something told him this had been Bartimaeus's way of getting Kitty and Piper to celebrate his birthday. After all, he had done the same thing to get Kitty to save him from the golem. But he wasn't in danger now, and thinking of possible reasons why Bartimaeus had done this only made his mind run wild imagining the kinds of information Bartimaeus was now privy to.

"You don't have to tell me your decision now," Piper said softly, reassuringly. She made to get up.

"No, no, that's alright. You can move in. This house is so big, and Bartimaeus keeps ranting about how much space I'm wasting." He was the one blabbing now, wasn't he? No matter, he felt strongly about this—Kitty and Piper had gone out of their way to help him, so it was only natural that he should do the same. Besides, Bartimaeus had a point, but Nathaniel figured he shouldn't tell him that.

"Really?" Piper slid back down on the chair, her eyes wide and glimmering with gratitude. "I—thank you. I'll talk to Kitty tomorrow." A shadow crept on her face as she remembered something. "I feel that I should warn you that if we do this, people will talk. The government doesn't have such a strong hold on the press now either."

"Aren't people already talking?" Nathaniel said dismissively.

"I meant about you and Kitty. Maybe about you and me. Well, maybe about the three of us…"

Nathaniel scoffed at the idea. "I know what you meant. Well, maybe that'll stop the ridiculous love letters." He made a disgusted face as he thought back on the letters Bartimaeus had kept just to annoy him.

"Aw, not all of them are that bad," Piper teased, her previous nervousness a fading memory. "Wasn't there a poem about your eyes?"

Nathaniel shuddered. "Don't remind me. Bartimaeus framed that one. I don't even go into my living room anymore."

Piper giggled. "Of course he did." They smiled at each other for a moment longer. "Well, I'll leave you be now. We'll discuss the details later. Thank you again, this means a lot."

"Not a problem."

He was preparing to open the books he'd been looking over, energised by their conversation and its revelations, as Piper got up and grabbed her handbag, as they said their goodbyes. But then she stopped at the door and told him quite plainly: "Oh, we're going out for dinner tonight. Be ready by 6:30pm."

And she was gone after that, leaving him gaping but with no chance to protest or refuse the invitation.

* * *

Nathaniel, Bartimaeus, Kitty, and Piper had made it to a highly praised restaurant for dinner, just like Piper had announced they would. In fact, she and Kitty had taken turns calling him to make sure he was getting ready. Nathaniel had mentioned his health, the risks of going out, and the press, but Kitty and Piper had argued that they needed to stop hiding, that getting out would be good for his health, and that the owner was discreet and accommodating. Nathaniel had waved his white flag. Piper and Kitty were relentless and, frankly, a little scary when they teamed up. Which he supposed served him right for indirectly introducing them.

At first Nathaniel had been surprised to learn that the restaurant was inside a modern, luxurious hotel in Whitechapel with a penchant for wide, floor-to-ceiling windows and sandy hues. But now he was glad for the privacy it provided—not many people were inclined to stay in London at the moment, much less to dine out in hotels. Only the odd clinking of silverware and whispered conversation hinted at the presence of other guests, but it was mostly drowned out by the pleasant piano music playing on discreetly located speakers around the room.

The privacy went further than that, however. At Piper's request, the owner had prepared a table in an area somewhat hidden by wooden screens, plants, and—strangely enough—an aquarium, while also still providing a good view of the small stage. The staff didn't stare, the food wasn't poisoned, and there wasn't a single afrit in sight. All this had warranted much self-pinching throughout dinner.

The silky beige tablecloths and the expensive dishware hardly impressed Nathaniel, who'd been to many places like this in his short life. Kitty and Bartimaeus had spent a big part of the meal talking about the decoration, however—Kitty scoffing at the ostentatious details and Bartimaeus commenting on the architecture. Then Bartimaeus had moved on to tell embarrassing stories of Nathaniel's past adventures, and Nathaniel had felt the need to correct his many exaggerations. Kitty had joined in at some point, telling a very shocked Piper of that time she'd punched a fourteen-year-old Nathaniel, backed up by Bartimaeus's calls of "deserved it" and "my hero". Nathaniel had eventually interrupted them to talk about the food, which had ensured Bartimaeus's silence for the remainder of the meal. He'd focused instead on playing with the candles in the centrepiece.

It was, admittedly, a pretty centrepiece, made of fine stained glass and filled with water, where a dozen candles floated about, casting a ring of colourful flowers on the tablecloth. So far, Bartimaeus had made the water bubble and produce new, hypnotic patterns with the candles. Presently, he had joined them close together and made one big flame, further aggravating Nathaniel. He gave Bartimaeus a warning look and the djinni blatantly ignored him, widening the flame until Nathaniel felt that his eyebrows were at risk.

"So, tell me again why he had to come," Nathaniel said, motioning with his head towards Bartimaeus, who looked offended by the gesture.

"Because Kitty wanted to eat an entire pizza by herself but didn't want anyone to know, so she thought she'd pretend we'd split it," Bartimaeus retorted. The remnants of the mushroom risotto on Kitty's plate told a different story, however.

Kitty sighed wistfully. "You know me so well," she said in a fake sweet tone, grinning and batting her eyelashes at Bartimaeus. This was only Nathaniel's second time seeing her formally dressed, and she looked beautiful in her knee-length burgundy dress. The light makeup and slim silver necklace were also new additions, but they suited her. Nathaniel suspected that Piper had spent a long time convincing her to do all this just to eat dinner.

"Yes, mind-reading is one of my many talents."

Against his better judgement, Nathaniel decided to intervene. "Well, what will we do with your food now? They'll ask why you haven't touched it. At least scramble it a little."

"Like you did?" Bartimaeus asked sardonically, giving Nathaniel's grilled calamari a pointed look. Nathaniel only glared in response. He had enough of this at home, since Bartimaeus was preparing almost all of his meals; Piper had dismissed both his cook and his two human servants not to accumulate unnecessary expenses when they didn't know what was going to happen to him. Hiring help now didn't seem wise for many reasons.

Bartimaeus shrugged at his lack of response. "But that's not necessary. I can make it disappear."

Nathaniel had never heard of such magic before. Frowning in doubt, he asked, "You can?"

"Of course." Bartimaeus took the plate and handed it to Kitty. "Open up, Jones."

Kitty directed a blank stare at Bartimaeus. Nathaniel could've sworn he saw her give Bartimaeus the finger behind the table's edge, but the tablecloth hid part of her hand, so he couldn't be sure.

Piper shook her head at them in amusement, her golden jewellery catching the light, then turned to Nathaniel. "Answering your question, it's safer this way. And it's less conspicuous if he's in full view and not buzzing around our ears."

"Not to mention more hygienic," Kitty supplied with a smirk.

"You've showered today because Piper forced you to. Don't act like you're the Queen of Hygiene. No, that's birthday boy over there, who took two hours getting ready."

"My movements are limited, as you well know," Nathaniel replied in a tight voice, his face burning up.

He certainly didn't enjoy having to be extra careful not to let too much water hit his side; the waterproof dressing wasn't as waterproof as advertised. At least his shoulder was healing much faster. Still, the worst part was how much effort it took for him to move. Never had he imagined that showering would be a struggle or leave him a tad breathless. But nowadays it always took him ages to wash or dry his toes. Sometimes he even had to sit down on the toilet to dry up and Bartimaeus wouldn't know about that in this lifetime if Nathaniel had a say in it.

Dr Elgar had told him that all this was normal and assured him that he was healing faster than expected, probably because of the magic—not that she allowed that Bartimaeus continued with the treatment without her supervision. Nathaniel still had a hard time picturing how it could be worse or slower than this.

Kitty snorted, bringing his attention back to the topic at hand. "Says the one who hasn't showered in five-thousand years. Don't think that just because you look gorgeous tonight I'll forget where that essence has been."

"No need to be hurtful," Nathaniel protested.

"I didn't mean _you_. It's your birthday," Kitty told him seriously like she hadn't just gleefully made fun of his fourteen-year-old self. "But didn't you last summon Bartimaeus from inside a silver tureen of fish soup?"

"Thanks for that lovely memory, Kitty. I can still feel bits of herbs and garlic swirling around." Bartimaeus shuddered.

Nathaniel frowned. "Does that mean _I_ have bits of garlic and herbs floating around inside me?"

"Hadn't thought of that. Hopefully they just knew to go straight to your digestive system." He turned to Kitty, apparently done with the subject. Nathaniel could only think how odd it was for Bartimaeus to know about the digestive system at all. "But let's focus on the part where you said I'm gorgeous."

Kitty rolled her eyes and gave Nathaniel and Piper a look, as if to say, "Can you believe this guy?"

"This is what you get for flattering him," Nathaniel said flatly while Piper simply shook her head again as if no, she couldn't believe it.

"It's not flattery if it's the truth." Bartimaeus waggled his eyebrows at him. His stupid, perfect eyebrows.

Bartimaeus was right, of course. He looked as handsome as Nathaniel had ever seen him, in the guise of a dark-skinned young man with messy brown hair. Nathaniel had seen this guise before, but not often, and Bartimaeus usually appeared dressed only in belted jeans. Which meant that Nathaniel knew how he looked under his white shirt and suit jacket. Which in turn made him blush and vehemently reprimand his foolish mind for the picture. And then wonder why he had a mental picture saved at all.

Piper saved him. "I think Mr Brunetti is coming to greet us, so maybe we should… act normal?" She said this while looking straight at Bartimaeus. His eyes twinkled with pure mischief and Nathaniel was reminded of the many times Bartimaeus had ruined his public appearances. "Please, Bartimaeus?"

That surprised him. He didn't know much about how Piper handled her spirits, only what he'd seen from her handling his whenever he was too busy, or simply not in the mood to deal with Bartimaeus. But Piper had never asked Bartimaeus to please do something as far as he remembered.

Bartimaeus looked surprised too. "Well, since you put it so nicely." Nathaniel didn't believe him for a second.

"Maybe you and I should hit the bar," Kitty suggested, getting up and pulling at Bartimaeus's elbow. Nathaniel eyed his water unhappily. He had been drinking alcohol since he was fourteen just because he'd been part of the government, but on the day that he was turning eighteen, he couldn't drink. The cold, stinging irony wasn't lost on him.

"Fine, but I'm _not_ pulling your hair out of your face if your martini does a round trip," Nathaniel heard him say as the twosome disappeared behind the aquarium. Through the water, the large oval-shaped bar looked blurry, but he could make out the pristine granite countertops and the twinkling of countless bottles arranged in two glass columns. Three stoic-faced bartenders stood by, idly polishing glasses and preparing ingredients.

Nathaniel and Piper barely had the time to share a relieved look before a big, tan man appeared from behind the aquarium, arms outstretched as if for a hug. "Madam Prime Minister, what an honour to have you!"

It was an odd feeling to watch Piper being fussed over. Nathaniel had grown used to her quiet efficiency, her near invisibility. In fact, he'd appreciated those qualities—they were the reason he had chosen her as his assistant. But the situation had certainly changed, and with it had come the need for Piper to adapt.

Nathaniel didn't remember the moment when he'd learned Piper was the interim Prime Minister. Frankly, he'd probably been focused on other things, and when it'd finally dawned on him, a reaction wasn't expected anymore. And while he didn't know much about the new council, he doubted there was anyone more competent than Piper. He'd meant what he'd said a week ago—Piper seemed to be accomplishing more than the past council would have were the situation different. Or at least she was trying to.

Piper got to her feet to greet Mr Brunetti, her emerald dress falling to her knees. She smiled politely as she stretched out a hand. But said hand was ignored in favour of two loud kisses. Piper blinked at the man in surprise and he let her go with a good-humoured beam. She recovered quickly, however, putting back the polite mask a magician should always have on hand.

"No, thank you for the invitation, Mr Brunetti. This is such a lovely place, and the food was exquisite. Our compliments to the chef."

Nathaniel mentally winced when Mr Brunetti noticed two nearly full plates and his smile fell. Nathaniel rushed to say, "Our friend's a vegetarian. He didn't know that carbonara has bacon in it. And I—well, I'm still recovering, so I can't eat much at a time."

The moment when someone noticed who he was always made for an entertaining reaction. Brunetti's brown eyes bulged out almost comically, his protruding lower lip trembled a bit as he decided on what to say. Then the smile returned, and he took two large steps to heartily shake Nathaniel's hand.

"Oh no, please do _not_ get up. I insist, Mr Mandrake. It's such an honour to meet you. I had no idea you were giving us this honour."

Brunetti had big hands with meaty fingers; hands undoubtedly used to many handshakes and paper cuts. Upon closer inspection, Nathaniel could tell that what he had labelled as 'big' earlier should be changed to 'muscular'. He also noticed an old scar across Brunetti's right cheek and had to fight the instinct to touch his own face.

"No, please, you flatter me. I'm delighted to be here." Nathaniel's relief that the man had accepted his excuse was only rivalled by the relief he felt that Bartimaeus wasn't there to witness and potentially spoil this interaction. Nathaniel would have liked to get up, though. Sitting was a lot less comfortable than standing, but nothing beat lying down so far. However, how could he when Brunetti was so adamant that he didn't?

"I'm so humbled to have you both dining at my hotel. I'll take care to get something else for your friend."

"That's very kind of you, but it isn't necessary. He, uh, ate a lot of garlic bread." And as he thought this Nathaniel prayed to no one in particular that Brunetti didn't think to check their order.

"Oh, but that isn't a meal," he insisted.

Nathaniel grinned back tightly, discreetly trying to remove his hand from the sandwich Brunetti had created with his own. He sent Piper a silent cry for help, which she understood, bless her.

"Mr Brunetti, it is my understanding there'll be live music tonight."

That did the trick. Brunetti finally let go of Nathaniel's hand and returned to Piper's side, where he explained that the restaurant had live music every Saturday and that he tried to promote local talent as much as possible. Piper listened and nodded politely, but Nathaniel had lost interest. Music had always been his worst subject, and even now he didn't understand what the fuss was all about.

No, he preferred the quiet introspection that came with drawing. Nathaniel wistfully thought about his sketchbook back at home. He'd been so bored lately that all he did on his free time from his research was experimental sketches—from drawing still life to Kitty and Piper to Bartimaeus's many guises. He'd found that the variety in Bartimaeus's shapes challenged him the most, so now he had a reasonable amount of work to show for it, which Bartimaeus could never find because he'd most surely blow things out of proportion. And his ego would inflate to the size of the moon, which wasn't wise, seeing as it barely fit on Earth in the first place.

Soon after, Mr Brunetti excused himself to go speak with the musicians and Nathaniel relaxed back in his chair again with a sigh. "He's quite… friendly," he told Piper.

She smiled apologetically at him. "He's eager to please."

"I thought you didn't trust him?"

"Well, I don't _trust_ that he doesn't want anything in return for his efforts in catching Asmodeus. But I figured it would be best to keep him closer just in case."

Nathaniel nodded. "Clever."

"Learned from the best," she told him with another grin. Nathaniel had to grin back.

They fell into a comfortable silence after that. From his vantage point, Nathaniel could see that more people had come in and gathered around the stage. The crowd talked in excited whispers, heads turned this way and that, eyes bright with curiosity. He spotted Kitty and Bartimaeus at the back of the crowd, leaning against the bar. Kitty had a glass in her hand and Bartimaeus was making her throw her head back with laughter.

Nathaniel drank the rest of his water and averted his gaze to the stage as an uncomfortable clench he didn't want to think about settled in his stomach. It was a simple rectangular platform with a black cloth covering it, barely large enough for the instruments—the grand piano and the drums took up much of the space, leaving little room for the double bass and the microphone, which was so close to the edge someone from the audience could probably yank it. He'd better keep Bartimaeus from getting too close lest he get any ideas.

"Do you want to join them?" Piper suddenly asked. She had her chin on her hand as she stared at Bartimaeus and Kitty, who was waving them over.

"I don't know if that's such a good idea," he said. Bartimaeus's gaze landed on him then and Nathaniel sat upright, feeling once more annoyed with himself for his reaction. This was absolutely ridiculous and inappropriate—there were a lot of beautiful people there that night—Kitty and Piper included. All three bartenders were good-looking, and Nathaniel idly wondered if that was a requirement for the position.

"I doubt you'll be recognised now. Look, the musicians have arrived."

It was true. The small crowd was cheering and applauding as it parted to let the musicians get to the stage. Nathaniel imagined what it'd be like to become part of that namelessness just this one time. Would he feel suffocated? Freed?

He looked at Kitty and Bartimaeus again, and felt something tugging at his stomach, pulling him. He had stood up and made it to the bar before he knew what he was doing. The music had started by then—a soft piano intro at first, and then drums and a powerful voice that had elicited more cheering from the audience.

Piper had followed him and was beaming at the stage. "What a pleasant surprise!"

"It is!" Kitty agreed. She put her martini glass down on the counter and jumped off the stool. "Let's get closer to the stage."

And off she went to the middle of the crowd, not waiting for them to follow. Piper shrugged and went after her, cocking her head for Nathaniel to join. He stayed where he was, however, not wanting to test his luck. Even if standing felt better than sitting, it was still a bit of an effort when he had to do it for longer than a few minutes.

Bartimaeus said something, and just by looking at his face Nathaniel could tell it wasn't flattering, but he had to ask Bartimaeus to repeat. He leaned in to do just that. "Afraid you'll embarrass yourself?" There was no breath ghosting over his ear, but the proximity of their faces made Nathaniel flinch.

"N-No." He cleared his throat in frustration as Bartimaeus raised an amused eyebrow at him. This was what he got for always being surrounded by power-hungry people three times his age—throw a good-looking, young adult his way and he turned into a bumbling mess. That had happened with Jane, and it was happening now, even though this was _Bartimaeus_ and he should be nothing but indifferent. Disgusted even. Had he ever felt disgusted by Bartimaeus? Apart from when the djinni made it inevitable, he didn't think so. Worse still—had he just thought of Bartimaeus as a _person_? There went his last magician instincts.

But no, Nathaniel just needed to hold out until Bartimaeus dropped this guise and things went back to normal. Well, as normal as possible. To this new, strange dynamic built on reluctant mutual respect and understanding.

Which didn't mean Nathaniel wouldn't get Bartimaeus back for his comment. "Afraid your moves are outdated?"

Bartimaeus's smirk was slow to form, but it took over his whole face when it did—his eyes glimmering with amusement, eyebrow arching, nose wrinkled in a way that wasn't at all adorable. God, what was wrong with him tonight?

"Are you offering to teach me modern ones?"

Nathaniel hoped his blush wouldn't spread from his ears to his face. "Are you going to embarrass me?"

"Hopefully."

"Then better luck trying to get Kitty to help you."

Bartimaeus snorted and then forcibly exhaled through his nose. That was when Nathaniel noticed the smoke—a sweet-smelling haze that had settled around the bar. It was undoubtedly a combination of the cigarette smoke—a result from the many smokers watching the concert from the bar—and the incense someone had decided to use to counter the smoke. It wasn't working as they'd hoped.

"Are you okay?" he asked Bartimaeus, who simply shrugged in response. "Do you want to go outside to catch some air?"

"Are _you_ okay?"

Nathaniel clicked his tongue and crossed his arms over his chest. "I've always known that this bothers you, alright? Now I know how much."

Bartimaeus nodded seriously, like he understood what Nathaniel wasn't saying. "Weird, isn't it?"

It was Nathaniel's turn to nod. "Very much so. But…" Bartimaeus prompted him with an inquisitive eyebrow. "Look, knowledge is always a good thing, right? Although the experience wasn't enjoyable at all, I've learned some things because of it. Including some things about myself."

"Oh?"

"Don't look so surprised. I know you did too."

Bartimaeus's eyes softened, but just for a split second. It was so fast Nathaniel thought he'd imagined it—maybe he'd been projecting Ptolemy onto Bartimaeus again. He seemed to be doing that a lot these days, as if his mind fiercely wanted him to see Bartimaeus differently, and he couldn't help but wonder if the changes he was beginning to notice in himself were bigger and broader than he'd anticipated. It was a scary thought. Sharing a mind with Bartimaeus had triggered this disconcerting uncertainty, something which he was beginning to realise had always been there. So now he was left walking in the dark, not knowing where he'd come from or where he was going. He couldn't help but worry that he'd be lost in limbo forever.

"You know," Bartimaeus ducked his head down to Nathaniel's ear again, "Kitty and Piper really wanted to make today special for you. So even if you can only stand for fifteen minutes at a time, wouldn't it be better to spend those fifteen minutes with them? God forbid you actually enjoy yourself a little too."

Nathaniel glared at Bartimaeus, but he had a point. Besides, it was getting hard to breathe with all the smoke. It was best to move away from the bar. "Fine," he grumbled. "But you're coming too."

Before Bartimaeus could protest, Nathaniel grabbed his wrist and dragged him into the crowd. As they slowly made their way, Nathaniel narrowly avoided getting elbowed on the side and hair in his mouth. And he told himself that he didn't care what Bartimaeus thought of this; Nathaniel wasn't going to leave him in the middle of all that smoke. As his grip tightened around Bartimaeus's wrist, he noticed that the fake skin was cold to the touch. But it wasn't a human kind of cold—Bartimaeus burned so hotly it felt cold to his nervous system. Another random piece of knowledge he'd put together from sharing the djinni's mind.

A flash of green in the crowd caught his eye—Piper's dress. When they reached the girls, Kitty grabbed Nathaniel's free hand and awkwardly and slowly spun him around, her laughter and the mirth in her eyes contagious. Then Piper grabbed his shoulders and gently pulled and pushed them to the beat of the song and Nathaniel was laughing and letting himself go. Again. This wasn't a song to energetically dance to, thankfully. As he looked around, he noticed people swaying this way and that, singing along when they knew the lyrics. He tried to stick to that easy rhythm, careful not to upset his injuries, and constantly turning his head this way and that to check if anyone had realised who he was.

But no one was paying him any mind, and soon it became clear why.

By the time he turned to search for Bartimaeus, the djinni had climbed on top of a speaker and was madly twirling his hips to the rhythm, wildly flailing his arms about and generally looking like a mad person. Later that night Bartimaeus would say that this was all to keep the three of them from being noticed, but Nathaniel didn't believe him for a second.

Kitty whistled along with the audience. Piper stopped to stare open-mouthed at the scene. The singer's voice cracked on a high note as she dissolved into giggles. Someone to his right shouted something about wanting Bartimaeus's underwear, which only made Bartimaeus throw his suit jacket at the crowd. It made it to Nathaniel's hands without him needing to move. He hid his face in it, but it was too late—the image was already burned in his brain.

And he laughed some more.

He laughed so hard his side started hurting a good kind of pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I seriously just write a chapter where only good stuff happens? *gasp* No, I haven't been kidnapped by aliens (although that would explain a lot), and anjumstar can attest to that, since she's been reassuring me that it's fine not to make everything suck from time to time. Many thanks to her, as usual, for her stellar beta work.  
> With that being said, I hope that you and your loved ones are doing fantastic and that this stupid virus dies soon so we can hug some people again. Seriously, my cat is so done with me.


	11. wash the ashes from my hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. Hi! 'Sup? I'm about to ramble a little about why I've been absent for half a year, so if you don't care, skip to the last paragraph of this note.  
> To the rest of you still with me, well... This all started because I was having trouble dividing my attention between this story, my dissertation and every odd job thrown my way. (If anyone tells you writing a dissertation isn't a full-time thing, kick them out a window, please. I've already kicked myself out a window for this.) Shortly before handing in my dissertation, I got offered a job (yes, yay!) and things got even more complicated because every bit of time off work I had was put into finishing the damn dissertation and then preparing for the defense. And I'm glad I did, because everything went really well!  
> And then... well... I got a bit burnt out from it all. I don't work as a writer per se, but my job requires me to basically write for 7-8 hours straight, so that didn't help matters. And then I decided to do a half-Nano, and do the other half in December, and here we are!  
> Now, I know this is very late, but I hope you can find it in your beautiful hearts to forgive me. I also hope you don't mind the small change in style. Keeping to a single character per chapter was working when the chapters were roughly 4,000-5,000 words, but for some reason I can't get these people to shut up these days. So I think this will work better, at least for now. But do let me know what you think!  
> And now, at long mothereffing last:

_Kitty_

Kitty and Piper stumbled home a bit past midnight, both giggling and a bit light-headed from the alcohol and the music. Kitty hooked her arm around Piper’s waist before she toppled over.

“Sorry. Carpet,” Piper offered by means of explanation, her words slurred, and then started giggling again. Kitty rolled her eyes at the deadweight, but she was laughing too. Why was it that once you started laughing at ridiculous stuff you simply couldn’t stop?

“Pull yourself together. Aren’t you the Prime Minister of England?” she mock-chastised, pulling Piper to a relatively upright position and helping her up the stairs.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Kitty snorted. She didn’t remember seeing Piper drink that much, but then again, she’d spent most of the night either laughing with or at Bartimaeus and Nathaniel. Dear Lord, she had not been expecting any of that. Kitty had never thought she’d enjoy the company of two magicians and a djinni. But the more time she spent around them, the clearer it became that they were forming this weird kinship that could become a friendship.

“Here we are,” Kitty announced once they reached the top of the stairs, proceeding to move down the hallway. Piper silently followed.

When they reached the door to Piper’s room, Kitty opened it and motioned with a flourish for Piper to enter. “Funny,” Piper retorted. “I’m not drunk, you know.”

“Of course not,” was Kitty’s wry reply.

Before her world had so radically shifted, Kitty could count on her fingers the bedrooms she’d entered: her own, Jakob’s and her parents’. But now it wasn’t uncommon for Kitty to enter Piper’s. She’d been there earlier that night, letting Piper fuss over her with makeup brushes of all shapes and sizes.

Kitty made her way to the vanity and started removing her earrings as Piper shuffled about. Through the rusty mirror, Kitty watched Piper remove her heels and disappear inside her walk-in closet. Kitty opened the bottle of cleansing oil and poured a few drops on a cotton pad.

“He really had fun tonight, didn’t he?” Piper’s voice carried from the closet, the shifting of fabric in the background.

“He sure did.” Kitty grabbed another pad as her first came back filthy with eyeshadow. “But not as much as Bartimaeus.” Did anyone ever have as much fun as Bartimaeus, though?

“Well, I suppose they both deserved it. We all did.”

Kitty spun around in the cushioned chair, but Piper was still in the closet. “Did you just say that Bartimaeus deserves to have fun?”

A pause. “He’s not as aggravating as I first thought.”

“That’s mighty generous of you.”

“Oh, hush.” Piper stuck her head out, eyes narrowed as she threateningly shook a shoe at Kitty.

“You have to do better than that, Rebecca. I’ve faced a golem before, remember?”

The head disappeared back in the closet and Kitty returned to the task at hand, making sure to wipe her entire face free of foundation. She was finishing up on her lipstick when Piper emerged from the closet in her nightgown and dressing gown, grabbed the ottoman at the end of the bed and dragged it to sit next to Kitty.

Piper squinted as she studied Kitty’s face. “What?” Kitty demanded, unconsciously leaning back.

Piper’s sigh was lamenting, as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “Give me that,” she ordered, snatching the oil and the pads. “If you don’t take care of that skin, Kathleen Jones, you’ll regret it. And we already know how you’ll look when you’re sixty, so you shouldn’t push your luck.” Piper forced one of Kitty’s eyelids shut and dabbed at the line right over her lashes as she delivered this small speech. Then she moved on to the eyelashes, gently clasping them in between the cotton and pulling.

With only one eye open, Kitty peered down at Piper’s focused grimace and almost laughed. But then she noticed the shadows around her eyes, usually covered up by makeup, but now noticeable after the long day. The premature lines around her mouth, crinkling her forehead. Kitty wondered if she would find some grey hairs if Piper’s mousy hair wasn’t just the right shade to make them unnoticeable.

Deciding she didn’t want to make Piper think about whatever had made her this tired, she said instead, “This is the weirdest moment of my life.” She blew a tuft of black-grey hair out of her face as Piper’s features relaxed and then opened into a grin. That was better.

“Actually, I have to tell you something,” Piper confessed, letting go of Kitty’s right eyelid and moving on to the left.

“Why do you sound so tense about it?”

“I’m not. I just don’t know how you’ll react.”

“You’re not helping by being so cryptic.” Kitty groaned and grabbed Piper’s wrists. “Stop that. Just tell me.”

Piper sighed and threw the pad in the garbage bin. “How would you feel about moving in with Nathaniel?”

It took a full breath for Kitty to ask, “What?”

Piper flinched. “Do you know about the programme for repurposing the deceased magicians’ houses?”

Kitty nodded. “The one that’s not going anywhere because the Council keeps fighting about it?”

“Right in one.”

“Okay… But what does that have to do with any—” She interrupted herself when Piper’s sheepish expression made something click in Kitty’s head. Kitty’s eyes went as wide as the pads. “You volunteered _your_ house?”

Piper scratched at the ottoman, not meeting Kitty’s eyes. “I guess I did?”

“That’s—woah, that’s a big step. Are you sure about this?”

“Afraid so. Already told the Council. They stopped fighting for now. But we’re still running low on funding to rebuild what was destroyed, so I’m not sure how much difference it’ll make.”

“Well, it’s a nice gesture, for starters,” Kitty argued. “As for the money, just do a charity concert or something. It’s not like you haven’t been doing other events for sponsorships and the like. This would reach a wider audience.” She said this with as much levity as if she’d suggested putting a lemonade stand outside.

Piper stared at her. “That… might not be a bad idea, actually.” She considered this for another moment before saying, “You should come to the meeting and suggest it yourself, so the delegates don’t think it’s just us magicians making grabs at people’s pockets.”

“I have faith in you,” Kitty deflected, not wanting to sit in another meeting and have to constantly fight the urge to choke Ronald bloody Kingston. She couldn’t even _think_ of him without putting ‘bloody’ in the middle of his two uptight names. How was she supposed to not fling herself at him the next time he mentioned reinstating surveillance and redoubling spirit punishments as a way for magicians to reassert themselves?

“Brilliant,” Piper said with a sigh. “Hopefully the John Mandrake Effect works in my favour.”

Kitty snorted. “The John Mandrake Effect?”

“Don’t mock,” Piper chastised, contradicting herself by impishly smirking. “Now that the news got out that he’s alive, the Council’s magicians are a lot more agreeable. I suppose they think John Mandrake would back me up and that he will return to work soon, so they don’t want to get on his bad side. You should see Kingston every time the name John Mandrake is mentioned.”

“Huh. He’s not even there yet and he’s already working magic.”

“True.” Piper aimed for nonchalance, but her tone came off a bit bitter. Kitty decided it was best to let it go for now. “So, about moving in…?”

Kitty’s lips thinned into a white line. “I don’t know. I’d rather get my own place. This seems like such an inconvenience to him.”

“He doesn’t think so. I talked to him earlier today and he said that we’d be welcome there.”

“You talked to him first?”

“What would be the point of talking to you if he said no?”

Kitty supposed she had a point. “Fine.”

“I assure you, it’s only temporary. And I realise I’m putting you in a difficult position, but I don’t think it’d be wise for you to live without his protection right now. We still don’t know why that hybrid followed you, and now with Asmodeus no doubt fuming at having missed his mark, it’s too risky. It’s a wonder he’s been keeping silent. I have to assume the horlas hurt him more than we suspected.”

Kitty nodded, but then something occurred to her. “Wait. Why are you not getting your own place?”

Piper shrugged. “I’m going to North America soon.”

“You’re going to North—What? But didn’t you say they didn’t accept the treaty and refused to return their prisoners?”

“Yes. Because someone did a terrible job of writing it and I was spread so thin I didn’t look at it. I think it was Ffoukes. I could kill him.” Piper’s nostrils flared. “Then again, I suppose this is new to most of us. Still.” She let out a mix between a sigh and a groan as she scratched at her forehead. “North America has agreed to a treaty on the condition that revisions are made. It’s been brought to our attention that a formal declaration of independence should be in there. So, we’ll reformulate it until it’s acceptable to both nations, and then I’ll fly over so we can sign it together.”

“But that’s—”

“Risky? Reckless?” Piper gave her a look. “I hope you won’t think of lecturing me after the risks you’ve taken.”

Kitty swallowed her words. As much as she hated to admit it, Piper wasn’t wrong. “I don’t have to like it, though.”

“Trust me, no one does.” Piper glanced at Kitty’s legs and she finally noticed they’d been bouncing all this time. She stopped. “North America signed the armistice. They don’t want to keep fighting either. And while this peace treaty won’t solve the damage at all, it’s a step in the right direction.

“I have to make this right,” Piper continued in a softer voice, swallowing over a lump in her throat and mindlessly gesticulating at the air between them. “You, Nathaniel and Bartimaeus have done your part. Your sacrifices saved London. And this may be crazy and a trap, but it’s my turn to do something. I’m the Prime Minister. It’s my job to protect the people of the Empire. Or what’s left of it.”

Kitty said nothing, openly staring at Piper, her admiration growing by the second. It took Kitty a while to find the words, but when she had them, she grabbed Piper’s hand, saving the ottoman from her nails, and squeezed. “You’re the most badass Prime Minister in history.”

Piper’s eyes glimmered with unshed tears as laughter bubbled out of her.

* * *

_Bartimaeus_

“What are you doing?”

Nathaniel started at my voice and put the tome down on his stomach. “Reading, what does it look like?”

It was Sunday afternoon, and I’d hoped for a lazy day, but Nathaniel had insisted on morning physiotherapy as usual, complaining all the while anyway. (1) Piper and Kitty had come for lunch, commenting on last night’s events, Kitty demanding I do the dance again, Nathaniel groaning and pretending not to look.

(1) Even though I went out of my way to choose other vegetables and fruit to compare his cheeks to instead of strawberries. I used beetroot, watermelon, and cherry, but nothing was to his liking. Tough crowd.

The last stubborn orange rays of sunlight were spearing through ashy clouds and spilling in, warming the carpet. The persistent smell of old books and dust clung to the room, regardless of how often it was cleaned. The music I kept playing every day barely reached this room, reminding me to up the volume once I was done poking Nathaniel.

I unglued myself from the doorframe and padded barefooted into the library, plopping down on the floor next to the sofa and the pile of books beside it. “I didn’t know you read about ancient pentacles just for pleasure. But then again, I guess I never understood a magician’s mind. Not even after inhabiting such forbidden territory.”

Nathaniel wrinkled his nose at me. “Sitting puts strain on my side and reading while standing makes my neck hurt.” He waved at the desk sitting right by the window, where three piles of books towered in competition with one another. “I’ve tried for half an hour and gave up.”

I quirked an eyebrow at him. “Your neck must be very comfortable right now.”

And there came the expected glare. Honestly, some days it truly was too easy to irritate him. I knew all the buttons to push and when to push them. Oddly enough, it was still entertaining to come up with new combinations.

“I’m serious. I made that suit jacket so comfortable you could sleep on it. Not that you should, it’s a masterpiece.”

Nathaniel blinked, confused for a second. Then he caught up and blushed. In a swift movement, he’d removed my jacket from underneath his head and thrown it at me. It didn’t make me stop laughing, so I won.

“Why are you still in that guise anyway?” he grumbled, fixating his gaze on the pages. “And what happened to your shirt?”

“I used it as a cloth after I washed the dishes.”

Nathaniel looked at me incredulously for a moment. “Don’t we have cloths?”

“Just put them in the washer this morning,” I said, not missing the ‘we’ or how infuriatingly domestic this conversation sounded.

“Brilliant. Now put on a bloody shirt, will you?”

I put on a bloody shirt, to which he rolled his eyes.

“Does this guise bother you?” I asked, grinning and leaning forward to force him to look at me.

Nathaniel moved the book so it’d act like a shield. “ _You_ bother me.”

The grin only grew larger. “Didn’t know you harboured all these secret feelings for me.”

Nathaniel groaned and ran a hand down his face. “I don’t have time for this.”

“You’re on house arrest—”

“Am not.”

“—so you have plenty of time.”

Nathaniel glared at me and then went back to his book. I let him for a minute, so he’d think he’d won.

And then: “What’s got you so enraptured anyway?” I tilted my head to check, but Nathaniel immediately closed the book.

“Do you mind?” he all but growled.

I raised my eyebrows at the tone but decided to ignore his blatant dismissal. “I would fire whoever dusts these books, by the way. You’ve got dust all over your face.”

Nathaniel irritably wiped his face with his hand, managing only to spread it around. “You were the one in charge of that.”

“Before shit hit the fan, you mean.”

The book slid off Nathaniel’s startled hands and into my waiting ones. I skipped away before he could make a grab for it, ignoring his groan of frustration and a very haughty, “Bartimaeus!” The victorious smirk died on my face the moment my eyes landed on the page he’d dog-eared.

Overruling pentacles.

Nathaniel was grimacing and applying pressure to his side with his free hand when I turned around to look at him. “Give me that,” he demanded. I did automatically, stupidly out of habit.

But it was too late. I’d seen it. There were one-hundred and fifty-nine questions swimming in my mind, but I had been rendered too shocked to ask a single one. (2)

(2) Look, it would be pointless anyway, wouldn’t it? Imagine having him answer them _one by one,_ just because humans can’t function any other way. It’s so impractical to tailor everything to such faint brain power.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he had the gall to say. “No one’s letting me do anything.”

Still rendered speechless, I watched as he shifted in his seat to properly face me for the first time since I’d entered the room. His eyebrows were knitted together, and his jaw set defiantly. It was an expression I hadn’t seen in a while directed at me. Usually it meant he cared a lot more about the receiver’s opinion than he wanted to let on.

Somehow that made me find my voice. “Do you understand—”

“The risks? Obviously I do. Who do you take me for?”

I decided to leave that unanswered for the moment. (3) “It’s very draining magic—”

(3) But I’m generous by nature and would never leave out a few options for you: an idiot; an arrogant moron; dead from the neck up.

“I know.”

“—and you’re healing—”

“I know.”

“—and there’s no guarantee it’d work.”

“I know.” He sighed and needlessly pulled his short hair back.

I stared openly at him, and if my facial expression was filled with reproach and annoyance, all the better.

“Bartimaeus…” he said, making sure to pronounce every syllable right, every damn sound. It was such a magician thing to do, making us remember the cursed moment we’d been ripped from home, forced into an individual identity. I didn’t care how ingrained it was by this point. It was the tone, the intention behind it. After all he’d experienced when we’d shared a consciousness, I’d begun expecting more.

“I need to do something. I was in a coma for too long and I’ve—” He cleared his throat. “There are some things that need fixing. That I need to fix.”

“Most people would start by fixing themselves, you know.”

“Good thing I’m not most people.” He smirked, the bastard.

I quirked my eyebrow at him, utterly unimpressed.

Nathaniel dropped the smirk and went back to being proper and serious. “I owe this country—these _people_ a lot.”

“Again, most people start by apologising.”

“I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

I tried not to let that bother me, because I could think of a place or two.

Nathaniel frowned and leaned back. “Why are there giant neon arrows pointing at you?”

I dismissed them. “No reason.” Before he could question me further, I said, “So, about that research you’re doing, do you think you could pull it off?”

“I hope so. Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask your opinion on something. I didn’t know when I’d get to, since I planned on keeping this a secret for a while longer. No point in alarming Kitty and Piper if this turns out to be utter rubbish, right?”

Again, I tried not to let any of that bother me, but it was no easy feat. Nathaniel was calm and relatively happy when he was doing research, finding new ways to do things, testing his own mind. Just like Ptolemy. A foreign urge to get closer to him nearly overcame me.

Nathaniel was trying to shift carefully in order to show me the book, but I solved that issue by getting up and plopping down on the sofa next to him. He flinched when our shoulders touched and I pulled back, startled by his reaction.

“Sorry, I’m just—”

“No, I’m sorry.” I put a few centimetres between us, annoyed by my own defensiveness. He’d had zero qualms in grabbing my wrist the day before, and now he was acting all prissy again.

“Right.” He cleared his throat. “So, this is one of the most basic pentacles for overruling a summons, right? You’ve probably seen some variation of it.”

I nodded, examining the pages he’d pointed to. There was plenty of scribbling in Ancient Greek around a drawing of the pentacle. “Clearly written pretty early on.” I muttered as I went through the scribbles. “Aha, here it is.” I tapped the footnote. “It says here they experimented with this pentacle between 166 and 159 BC. Wasn’t this one of the methods the Romans used to expand their empire?”

“Yes, and they were obviously successful, so this should work for its intended purpose.”

“But that’s not what you’re after.”

“Precisely.” He grinned, like I’d just said something clever instead of the most common observation one could make in that moment. I narrowed my eyes suspiciously at him. “I was wondering… The pentacle has three lines, each separated by runes. There’s incense too, of course. But the lines… Could we change them somehow? I think that might be the key.”

I briefly wondered if someone had kidnapped I’ve-Got-A-Stick-Up-My-Butthole Nathaniel and replaced him with this semi-pleasant version. But then I remembered he could be charming when he wanted something. Typical.

“I don’t know if I’m the one to ask here,” I admitted. “I’m inside pentacles often enough, _unfortunately,_ and I know how they work and the purpose of each line and rune, but this is essentially creating a new pentacle.” As an after-thought I added, “You’d definitely have to change the words at least. Maybe some of the runes too, since you’re not trying to bind but to… steal?”

Nathaniel was staring at me with the ghost of a smile on his face when I finished. “Yes, not helpful at all, are you?”

“I’m plenty helpful.”

“Isn’t that what I just said?”

“Yes—well.”

The corner of his lips twitched up, but he hid it by rummaging behind a pillow. Nathaniel pulled out a few crumpled notebook pages, smoothed them out on his lap, and put them on top of the book.

“I made some preliminary drawings, experimenting with different combinations of runes, incense, lines and the general placement of each element.”

I examined the dozen pieces of paper individually, taking note of the precise strokes and minute handwriting on the corners, where Nathaniel had explained how each element could affect the pentacle. There was also tentative analysis of the text used for the summons, along with hypotheses on which language would be most effective.

“When did you find the time to do all this?” I asked him, begrudgingly impressed.

“You mean besides all the free time I get from doing absolutely nothing all day?”

“Don’t be sassy with me, dumbass. You’re supposed to rest. Take naps, for Pete’s sake! You’ve always looked like you needed an injection of sleep, but now you can actually sleep.”

“I do sleep!” Psh. “But besides tolerating physiotherapy with you in the mornings, I have nothing else to do. I’m bored out of my mind.”

“What a hobby,” I drawled, ignoring his weak jab. “Careful now. If we don’t tame your eighteen-year-old impulses, soon you’ll be terrorising London’s nightlife with your crochet patterns.”

Nathaniel wrinkled his nose at me. “Goodness, you’re like a hyperactive child. Just focus, will you?”

Still grinning at my clear win, I returned my attention to the papers. “Well, you seem to be getting along fine without me. What do you even need?”

“A second opinion, mostly. You said we should consider the words too, right? But this bit is tricky, since we can’t summon the spirits from somewhere if we don’t know _where_ they are.” He reached over with a pencil and pointed at a paper with the tip. “Makepeace substituted _into the pentacle_ for _into this vessel_ and added something about the spirit obeying the vessel’s will, don’t remember the exact words. Still, using names should be more effective, whether they’re of spirits, humans or places.”

“But we don’t have access to those,” I reminded him.

“We do know Asmodeus’s name, at least, even if we don’t know where he is. But if we find out… I won’t mind using him as a guinea pig if you won’t.”

Then he gave me this devious look and I felt a foreign rush in my essence. I was transported to a few days ago in his kitchen. The heavy implication of his words. And then I noticed that throughout all of this talking and bickering, we’d ended up sitting closer, with our thighs pressed together. From here, the heady smell of his shampoo was a bit overwhelming—cedar and some sort of nut—and it shouldn’t be surprising, given the amount of hair product he used. (4)

(4) I’d wager a monthly dose would kill a small school of whales, but I humbly recognise I’m no expert on the matter.

“Bartimaeus?” he asked, and I halted completely, realising I was about to bury my nose in Nathaniel’s hair to put my curiosity to rest.

Nathaniel looked shocked and more than a little flushed. I was suddenly reminded of the day before, how he’d flushed with annoyance and grabbed my wrist to join Kitty and Piper in the crowd. Like it was normal. Like we did it all the time. My essence burned a circle beneath the fake skin, failing at accurately reproducing how it’d felt to be touched without contempt or disgust.

I suddenly jumped off the sofa. He studied me for a moment, his eyes huge and uncomprehending. Realising I still had the book, I swiftly handed it back to him and said, “Best to ask Piper or Mr Button. Kitty seems fond of him, doesn’t sound like a gossip either. Plus, he reads a lot, I hear. Didn’t he lose a limb for trying to summon a marid on his own? There you go, another scientific mind. I’m sure if you put your heads together, you’ll come up with a solution—”

“Wha—”

“Now I have to go get dinner ready. Been a pleasure. See you later.”

“But it’s only three…” I heard him mumble as I exited the library as fast as human legs would carry me. Self-preservation instincts had got me this far and they wouldn’t fail me now; I wouldn’t break into a run or fly out of a library to get away from a mere _human._ Please.

As I walked and my mind cleared and my essence settled, I reminded myself that, in spite of how nice this brainstorming session had been, Nathaniel would probably revert to his old habits once he’d felt he’d paid his debt to the city. As soon as he sat at the power table again, it’d be easy to erase everything else from his concerns. This was ultimately a nice gesture, but one meant to solve a human problem, so it didn’t concern me. I’d got entangled in their messes one too many times.

Besides, no one was forcing me, for a change. And what was there in it for me? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. There was only research and new pentacles and digging up old memories. And Nathaniel doing things that unsettled my essence.

No, I didn’t think it would be good for me.

* * *

_Piper_

The beam of sunlight coming in through the window and landing on the paper startled Piper out of her stupor. She’d been hunched over that same report for the past fifteen minutes, eyes glazed over as her mind replayed the past Saturday, all the laughter and the music and the joy.

With a sigh, she got up from her desk in order to stretch, her spine popping as she went. Careful not to stumble on any pile of books, files and papers around her desk, Piper made her way to the coffee machine, her favourite addition to the office. The previous occupant clearly hadn’t cared much about this small private room; most offices she’d visited in the Ministries were kept pristine and tidy to facilitate magical work. The walls, which had previously been eggshell, had turned yellow with age and smoke, the bookshelves lining the walls were giving out under the weight of moth-eaten books, and the green carpet had glaring cigarette marks.

It made her wonder what the Minister for Education had been doing all this time. But mostly, it made her think that she desperately needed to redecorate. Now wasn’t the time, however, and she didn’t know where she’d store all her paperwork in the meantime. There was a method to the madness, after all. Still, her nose always acted up when she was in the room, and she was sure it was because of the godforsaken carpet.

The coffee machine beeped to let her know it was done brewing. Piper filled a mug to the brim, added just a dash of milk and one sugar, went back for another sugar, and carried it to the small brown leather couch by the window. Then, after clearing some space by moving sets of files into bigger piles, she settled down with the report in one hand and the mug full of delicious coffee in the other.

Piper took a greedy slug, not caring how her throat burned, and closed her eyes as the sun warmed her scalp. She didn’t remember the last time she’d stood outside in the sun just because she could. Not that she was a big fan of sunny weather in general, but days like this, where the sun sometimes peeked through thick, waterlogged clouds were her favourite.

Right. Back to work.

The words in the report became clearer as the coffee kicked in, and soon Piper moved on to another. This one was a police report about a hybrid attack that had occurred in Wembley just the day before in the wee hours of the morning.

With the Greybacks having been formally disbanded due to the heavy losses caused by Jane Farrar’s impulsive behaviour, the police were lacking in resources capable of handling such complicated targets. They were hoping to beef up the teams with some of the returned soldiers. Piper was to guarantee their return during her stay in Boston, where she’d meet with the North American President-to-be in order to sign a revised peace treaty they were still working on, in order to fill the gaps and enable the continuous search and removal of the hybrids.

Since Devereaux had absorbed the role of Chief of Police, Piper had inherited the responsibility and was now trying to part with it as much and as fast as possible. But first, she needed a new Chief, and none of the candidates inspired enough confidence for her to make such an impactful decision in such troubling times.

And then, when Piper thought the report would go on much like the others, something caught her attention—the mention of a rogue wolf, which had attacked and killed the hybrid the police had been attempting to get under control. None of the officers present had claimed it as their own spirit. There was to be an enquiry into the matter, but so far there was no more information.

Piper reread that specific part of the report a few dozen times more, hoping to squeeze out information that simply wasn’t there. She got up quickly, made a note asking her assistant to get in contact with the officer who had written the report and slapped the note on top of it. As an afterthought, she requested a meeting with the Home Secretary, the Minister for Security, and the Head of Internal Affairs. Then she went to take another sip of her coffee and noticed she had none left.

She frowned and went to get some more, replaying the events of her own encounter with (probably) the same wolf two weeks prior. The wolf had taken down the hybrid like it knew exactly what it was doing. And now that Piper had read about this second intervention, she couldn’t help but wonder if that wasn’t exactly the case. Had this wolf been sent on lone missions to destroy the hybrids? That would explain the fact that there weren’t as many hybrid sightings as they’d expected. The council had assumed they’d gone into hiding, like Asmodeus, but maybe there had been something eliminating them all along.

But why the secrecy? And how was the wolf doing it? Every time she thought of this, Piper wondered if she hadn’t got it wrong and this was in fact a Greyback. But the matter was that she’d never seen a wolf so small and brown-coated in their ranks, or so powerful, and this kind of werewolf would certainly be hard to miss. Then there was the fact that the police report identified the wolf as a spirit, and, contrarily to Piper’s encounter, in which both her spirits had been put out of combat, this time there were other spirits there to identify it. Unless…

Unless the wolf was a hybrid.

Piper was still contemplating this from her couch, nibbling on the inside of her cheek, when someone knocked on the door. She started, nearly spilling the coffee, and then gathered herself and told them to come in.

Mr Button limped in, heavily relying on crutches, followed by a visibly frustrated George Ffoukes. It was all in his face—Ffoukes blushed every time he got annoyed or angry. It was quite distracting during meetings, because it was obvious whenever someone had managed to do it and every attempt Ffoukes employed to make himself appear unaffected backfired.

Ffoukes’s charms had soured ever since he’d been caught with stolen magical artefacts from the ruins of Pinn's Accoutrements over three years ago (and right under Julius Tallow’s nose to boot). He’d been severely demoted to perform nearly the same administrative tasks as the two commoners working at the Department of Internal Affairs at the time, something Ffoukes still resented. For her part, Piper had seen no choice but to give him some power, given the abysmal lack of talent in the government. She’d hoped his charisma and no small amount of power would serve the Foreign Ministry, but the one remarkable thing he’d accomplished so far was further aggravating North America by producing an offensive peace treaty. And again she balked at the fact that they still didn’t have an Attorney General.

“Gentlemen,” Piper greeted, settling her mug on the desk and motioning for Mr Button and Ffoukes to sit on the spare chairs on the opposite side of her desk.

“Much obliged, Piper,” Mr Button said as he all but fell on his chair. Piper was once again reminded that this building was not friendly to people like Mr Button. Short of offering to get a spirit to carry him—and risk offending him—Piper wasn’t sure what she could do to make this matter easier. Not to mention that Mr Button hadn’t complained to her once about it.

“Cheers,” said Ffoukes, instantly irking Piper. That was not the way to address your Prime Minister.

Deciding not to rise to the bait, Piper sat down on her chair and asked, “What can I do for you?”

“Well.” Mr Button clasped his hands together, his eyebrows making a small hill on his forehead as he grinned apologetically.

“Go on,” Piper urged, fighting the need to groan and ask instead, _What now?_

George Ffoukes apparently wasn’t in the mood for dallying either. “We’re having trouble with the Winter soiree.”

Piper opened her mouth to ask why Ffoukes was the one bringing her news about the Winter soiree, but then she remembered the rumours about a bet. A bet about who would be part of the organisation committee. While they were in the middle of a crisis. Brilliant.

Ffoukes didn’t seem to notice. “Too many people, too little staff and therefore too little food. Certainly, you know we’ve only hosted magicians before.”

The contempt in his voice made a vein in her temple pulse. Taking a discreet deep breath so as not to tell Ffoukes to sod off and grow up, Piper smiled sweetly and said, “And surely you must know that our new council has members who aren’t magicians, and those members have larger families that need to be accommodated as well. Or would you rather tell them that they aren’t invited because we haven’t thought of a way to solve it?”

Mr Button’s eyebrows shot upwards again, and Piper could tell he was trying not to laugh. It became evident he was only there to referee, because surely Mr Button wasn’t part of the committee with everything he had on his plate working at the Home Office.

Ffoukes grit his teeth. “Of course not. But you’re asking for too much when our budget is so limited. If we limited it to members of the council and their partners—”

“Magician’s apprentices have always been allowed to participate,” Mr Button reminded him. “Not to extend the same kindness to commoners’ own children would be noticed and resented.”

Ffoukes rolled his eyes like that was the least of his worries. “So you’ve said. But we magicians are all in agreement that it isn’t our problem if commoners like to procreate like bloody rabbits.”

Mr Button turned to him, utterly shocked. Piper couldn’t hold back her furious look this time. “Actually, Mr Ffoukes, I think the issue here is why haven’t you found a solution for this yet? Surely you can’t be expecting me to solve yet another one of your problems, yes?”

Ffoukes’s face went slack at the jab, face flushing an angry scarlet.

Piper hadn’t brought up the disaster of a peace treaty he’d written in front of anyone else, even though it was common knowledge among the council that Ffoukes was walking on thin ice. Nowadays he hung around the most frustrated and haughty magicians left in government, namely Ronald Kingston, all lurking in waiting for Piper to fall on her face so they could take over.

The only reason she hadn’t yet left for North America to clear up all that mess was knowing this wouldn’t be a lost opportunity to them. Well, that and the fact that they were still negotiating the right date. Piper trusted Mr Button to do a good job and have the Empire’s best interests at heart, and she could begrudgingly admit that Norwood could give all of those magicians a run for their money in every meeting, even if the idea of a baker finding the time to study politics was beyond her.

Still, it wasn’t enough to soothe her. The only thing that brought her some peace of mind was the pressure Nathaniel’s presence exerted even now, even though he hadn’t sat in a single council meeting. In fact, that was probably what made it all the more effective—they knew he was alive, they knew he was coming back, and the fact that he hadn’t acted yet made them nervous. Plus, Kitty would pulp them all if they tried anything.

Piper hid her smile, wishing she could bring the pair of them with her to North America, and also to every Interim Council meeting just so the delegates would shut up and listen for once.

Ffoukes’s indignant noises were what brought her back to present moment. Gaping like a fish, failing to produce any sort of dignified reply, Ffoukes looked like someone had just told him he’d have to sit through a six-hour play by Makepeace.

“It’s not simply the catering, you know?” Ffoukes spat with a stony expression. “We’re all rushing to make it happen, but we’ll have to compromise on quality. I hardly think that’s ideal if you want to keep from blighting your image further.”

Piper only allowed herself to narrow her eyes at him in warning.

Ffoukes continued, a pleased grin on his face: “It’s the matter of the entertainment, the food and drink, none of which we have the budget for, and paying the monstrous bills of the Richmond estate—if old Devereaux was good at something, it was at spending large sums of money. The garden will need to be arranged, and the house redecorated for the evening. Then there’s already complaints about the date because the guests are all _very_ important people.”

“What’s your point?” Piper asked drily.

“We need time and a proper budget if we want to make this happen right. We won’t accomplish anything by doing a patched-up soiree everyone will laugh about. If you aren’t willing to be sensible and compromise on the number of guests, at least have the sense to compromise on a date.”

“This year the soiree should be quite something,” Mr Button said gently, looking almost apologetic. “We’re honouring two national heroes instead of one— _two_. And a new Prime Minister, of course. It would be a shame if the party was underwhelming. Imagine the tabloids.”

Brilliant. Now even Mr Button was siding with this fox. “What date did you have in mind?”

“March.”

“That’s _hardly_ a winter soiree, is it? January,” Piper immediately countered.

“February, then?” Mr Button suggested.

Piper and Ffoukes glared at each other, waiting for the other to budge first. Mr Button cleared his throat, and both nodded tersely.

Then Piper remembered something that could tip the balance in her favour once more. “Ffoukes, try contacting Ricardo Brunetti, the owner of the hotel _l’Oracolo_ in Whitechapel. He always seems very eager to help. I’m not sure he’d let us borrow his staff for the evening, but he probably has contacts.”

Mr Button was nodding along, looking mildly impressed by her quick thinking. “Very agreeable man, Brunetti. I’ve had lunch with him a couple times this month, and he is such a knowledgeable fellow. Promised me to let me borrow some books on ancient empires.” Then, remembering what they were previously discussing, he added, “I’m sure he’ll offer his staff once he knows who’s asking and the occasion.”

Ffoukes looked less than pleased about doing as he was told, but that was probably because Piper had ended up resolving the matter for him in the end. It gave her a wicked sense of satisfaction.

“If that’s all?” she said, just to jostle him.

“Yes.” Ffoukes clicked his tongue. “I will make the call straight away. Thank you for your time.”

He’d started moving to the door as he said this, eager to disappear. He stopped there to wait for Mr Button.

“You go on ahead, George,” he called back to Ffoukes, who nodded and closed the door behind him. Then, swiftly turning back to Piper and leaning in conspiratorially, he whispered, “Glad that’s settled.”

Piper sighed, feeling some of the tension melt off her shoulders. “Thank you for running interference. I’d be lost without you.”

“Nonsense, you silly girl.” Mr Button chuckled good-naturedly, but she could tell the compliment pleased him greatly. “Now,” he turned serious again, “Pinn told me to remind you of that situation.”

“What situ—oh.” Piper frowned. The residual magic near London Bridge situation, of course. “No time and no resources. We’ve talked about this. I can’t just gather a small group of people and tell them to go inspect bricks, now can I?”

Mr Button shrugged, looking amused. “Former PMs have done stranger things.”

Piper nearly rolled her eyes. “We’re in a time of crisis.”

“It’s always a time of crisis.”

Piper rubbed her temples to try and soothe the flare of annoyance threatening to overpower her. “Mr Button, you’ll have to forgive me, but I was just making some preparations for my upcoming departure,” she lied.

“Of course, Rebecca. But let me remind you that Pinn is not the sort of fellow to send a Prime Minister on a wild-goose chase.”

Maybe not a Prime Minister he respected, he wouldn’t, Piper thought in defiance. “If that’s the case, then surely he is interested in whatever this is. Why doesn’t _he_ go?”

“Well, for one thing, he isn’t certain it is a magical artefact and not simply magic stored inside the bridge—or somewhere nearby, naturally.”

“Naturally,” Piper deadpanned.

“There’s also the matter that he’s currently travelling a great deal to restock. That golem sure did a number on his stock three years ago. Plus,” Mr Button’s eyes twinkled mischievously, “he’s probably scared and doesn’t want to get involved.”

Piper stared bemusedly at Mr Button for a moment. “Mr Pinn is a fine magician. I’m sure he’d manage not to get mutilated in the process. Besides, why would he even need to be there? No—never mind.” Piper raised a hand to stop Mr Button from answering. “I know why. If it turned out to be a valued artefact, he’d want it for himself. Which means he really must be scared, if he won’t even try.”

They both contemplated this for a moment, and then Mr Button said, “Well, this has to be good reason for you to pursue it, surely.”

“I told you—”

“You do have resources. Great resources, in fact.”

“I do?” And then the return of the mischievous glint made her put the pieces in place. “I’m not asking Mr Mandrake and Ms Jones to endanger their lives yet again because Mr Pinn is lazy and potentially… chicken.” And because they were in no shape to do it, at least not Nathaniel, but she wouldn’t say that out loud in a building full of magicians. The less they knew about his condition, the better. Let them think he was taking time off.

Mr Button chuckled at the word choice. “Well, they’d be discreet.” At this he gave her a meaningful look and Piper sighed. He’d been giving her grief about Nathaniel being alive ever since the news came out. “You could keep it off the records, if you’d like, and they have a decent success rate, wouldn’t you say?”

“When you put it like that…” Piper grumbled. “I suppose I could ask?” Maybe she would tell Kitty, but she’d be damned if she _ordered_ them to do anything.

Mr Button gave the table a cheerful tap. “Wonderful news! I shall tell Pinn next time I see him that you’re looking into it. Maybe then we’ll get to talk about the new artefacts he’s found for a change.”

He sat there grinning at her and Piper sighed. She’d allowed him to dump one more item on her never-ending list of unaccomplished tasks. They lacked funds, they lacked resources, they lacked _time._ It all seemed very daring from where she was sitting. Piper suddenly remembered what Kitty had told her on Saturday night after they’d come back from Nathaniel’s birthday dinner.

“Say, Mr Button, what do you think about a benefit concert?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm dying to read your 'YOU'RE ALIVE!' comments. Come at me! <3  
> Also, it wasn't fair to thank Anjum up there in the middle of that self-indulgent speech, so I'm putting it here now. Here's a toast to all the faces I've forced you to make throughout Bart's section and all the ridiculous typos you made fun of me for.  
> And don't think I didn't notice you beautiful newcomers! Nonono, you'll be hearing from me shortly. Pull up a chair and grab your fave snack, because this is going to be one hell of a ride.  
> Stay safe and stay awesome, and here's to a... mild 2021.


	12. like silver lines breaking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What, she updated twice in a month? Are her 2021 resolutions actually coming together? Is this the real life or is this just fantasy? We'll have to see.  
> Much love to anjumstar as usual for catching the silliest mistakes (and there were *plenty* this time around) and living the drama with me.  
> Also, I love how none of you let me get away with my bullshit about the 'You are alive!' comments, hahahaha. You're the best. Never change.

_Nathaniel_

Two weeks after Nathaniel had asked Bartimaeus for his insights on the pentacles for overruling a summons, Bartimaeus still hadn’t changed his mind. Every time Nathaniel brought it up, he was either shut down or ignored. The commotion caused by Kitty and Piper moving in certainly didn’t help matters, since Bartimaeus took every instance he was asked for help as an opportunity to scatter. To add to that, Piper had finally told Nathaniel where she was going—North America, to sign the peace treaty. If Nathaniel hadn’t been on edge before, that sealed the deal.

Nathaniel’s frustration and anger turned into short remarks during physio, lack of proper thanks for his meals, and overall cold attitude towards Bartimaeus after he was denied help. Bartimaeus took it all in stride, resisting Nathaniel’s attempts at dragging their conversations into arguments and ignoring his attitude. Instead, Bartimaeus had suggested they incorporated some self-defence into Nathaniel’s physio, which Nathaniel was sure was unnecessary by that point, but had agreed to because he refused to let Bartimaeus think of him as weak.

Nathaniel reckoned this was Bartimaeus’s way of getting back at him, because so far Nathaniel had ended up on his arse more often than not, and Bartimaeus had moved on to calling him spaghetti legs. This at least partly assuaged Nathaniel’s guilt towards the way he was treating Bartimaeus, but it didn’t evaporate his irritation.

If resenting Bartimaeus brought Nathaniel no comfort, then his self-flagellation over his own behaviour only served to further sour his mood. Ultimately, he knew Bartimaeus was right—asking Piper or, indeed, knowledgeable Mr Button (as far as he could garner from Kitty and Piper’s descriptions) seemed a much better solution. He was convinced he wasn’t inclined to for two simple reasons: one, both Piper and Mr Button were overworked, and two, he wanted to do it alone, accomplish _something,_ since nobody allowed him to participate in much of anything these days.

That was when an annoying part of his brain echoed back that if that were true, then he wouldn’t have asked Bartimaeus in the first place. And this time he couldn’t justify it with anything Ptolemy-related, because, as far as he could tell, these pentacles had been invented later on, when the Romans were trying to take over the Greeks. So Ptolemy wouldn’t have had a chance to research anything of the sort.

Nathaniel then chose to think that it didn’t matter so much that Ptolemy hadn’t studied them; it was still relevant that Ptolemy had invented a new pentacle in apparently record time. A pentacle that had been proven to work just recently, so it was worth looking into what else he knew.

However, all of that only made him more self-conscious about the memories he’d seen, and Bartimaeus’s relationship with Ptolemy, which Nathaniel tried not to think about. He couldn’t simply ask Bartimaeus about it directly. It was one thing to say he was aware of the identity of Bartimaeus’s favourite disguise, and another completely to imply he knew the extent of their relationship.

Caught between a rock and a hard place, Nathaniel had been forced to look elsewhere. And that had turned out to be summoning another spirit who might provide some help and come with less backtalk than Bartimaeus.

Although, if Nathaniel were being honest, he might have recognised that this need to call on another spirit servant was intrinsically related with his newfound discomfort on having to rely on Bartimaeus. Nathaniel had now firmly placed the day in his library in the same category as Ptolemy's memories: _don’t think about it_. Because, if he did, he’d see that stupid guise’s gorgeous dark face looming closer—undoubtedly for some nefarious reason—and that was simply counter-productive to Nathaniel’s health.

So, he’d been weighing his options for the last few days, glumly reaching the conclusion (yet again) that it was hard to get decent help these days and wondering how his former master had done it when an idea hit him. From there, everything had flown smoothly. He had a couple pentacles pre-drawn in his library, his stock of incenses was healthy and always kept up to date. All he needed was to recheck the runes and go over the summons enough times that he felt comfortable he could do it.

After all, this time he was attempting to summon an afrit.

Maybe he would’ve told Bartimaeus if he didn’t feel like strangling him every time they crossed paths. But then again, why should he? This strange urge to communicate with Bartimaeus was perplexing and a bit worrying. Besides, Bartimaeus would probably stop him, or get Kitty and Piper to do it. The last thing Nathaniel needed was to be coddled, so he put it out of his head and focused on the book before him.

Afrits were volatile and dangerous. Nathaniel knew this very well. He’d just escaped Asmodeus’s claws, after all. So he’d doubled the incense, placed as many protective runes as he dared. He knew this would wind him up at best. He hoped he didn’t faint, but it was fine if he did. He had prepared for that as well.

Sitting on a sturdy chair inside the largest pentacle he had drawn on the floorboards of the library so that, should he fall, he’d remain well inside the pentacle’s limits, Nathaniel looked over the page before him one more time before closing the book and placing it behind him on the chair. Then he took several cleansing breaths to clear his mind, putting thoughts of Bartimaeus, Kitty, and Piper in hidden neat compartments.

When he was ready, Nathaniel spoke.

Nothing happened for a few moments, but Nathaniel waited patiently, confident he had done everything right, that at least _this_ he could still do right. Sweating profusely, panting harshly, and clinging with a white-knotted grip to the chair, Nathaniel counted the seconds in his head. Hunched over like this, he could feel the bones in his ribcage digging into his stomach and his scarred side protesting at the pressure. He wiped his brow, not wanting the afrit to see how much this summons had cost him.

And then came a blinding light in the circle before him, a heat so piercing Nathaniel’s fingers lost their grip on the chair, the muscles and tendons going taut. He was inhaling lava. Nathaniel desperately pulled his shirt to cover his mouth and nose, but he didn’t dare close his eyes.

“Are you quite done?” he rasped out eventually.

The light receded until it became a small white orb floating over the pentacle. It reminded Nathaniel of something Bartimaeus had done recently to convey his exhaustion. Somehow, this orb seemed more explosive than exhausted.

“Force of habit,” said a bland voice.

“So I’d imagine,” retorted Nathaniel. A shiver went through his body at the sudden drop in temperature. He flexed his fingers as discreetly as possible. “Now, Shubit, I have a proposition for you.”

Normally Nathaniel would have opened with a short preamble—asked him questions about his accomplishments and other basic information to get them going—but they both knew Nathaniel was aware of all that, so there was no point. Besides, they weren’t completely strangers.

As if he’d read his mind, Shubit said, “I confess I wasn’t expecting to be summoned so soon after my previous master died. Much less by her former apprentice, the one and only John Mandrake.” If there was any underlaying mocking to these words, Nathaniel couldn’t tell. He’d always thought of Shubit as efficient and polite—the complete opposite of Bartimaeus. But with it also came uncertainty, because while Bartimaeus wasted no time in spouting his most random thoughts, Shubit was quiet and harder to read, something rare for an afrit.

Nonetheless, he had witnessed something which could play out in his favour.

“It is precisely Jessica Whitwell that I want to discuss.”

The orb said nothing.

The events from that night felt disorganised in Nathaniel’s head, like someone had walked in and changed the books from their rightful shelves. A drop of sweet slid down his back. His hands were clammy and uncooperative still. It was with great effort that Nathaniel managed to continue.

“She summoned you into a room full of hybrids—spirits who had taken over human bodies. Then she ordered you to attack, which you did. But soon you were dismissed because Whitwell was killed.

“My question is why? Certainly you knew the hybrids would overpower you and kill her immediately. There was no point in fighting, was there? So why did you?”

“It was a spur-of-the-moment decision,” came the answer a beat later.

“Bollocks,” said Nathaniel, not in the mood for charades.

The orb stilled in response, then transformed into a familiar grizzly bear. “I don’t remember you being so petulant before. What is it you want from me?”

“Mostly answers. Look, there is nothing in the summons to bind you to my will—no clauses, no lines in the pentacle, no runes, nothing. I’m merely protecting myself and looking for answers. You can decide to give them or not, but I believe that you acted the way you did for other reasons.”

The bear considered him with a distrusting stare. “I may be only two thousand years old, but I know you magicians are full of tricks.”

Nathaniel fought the answer in his lips that wanted to communicate that spirits were the ones full of tricks. That would be the furthest thing from productive in that moment.

“Much good it did us.” Nathaniel was just throwing a bone, he knew, but he hoped Shubit would take it either way. “I’m not interested in the way things were done before. I’m trying to do better.”

Until he’d said these words out loud, Nathaniel hadn’t truly thought about their implication. _Was_ he trying to be better not just for his country but towards spirits as well? Bartimaeus insinuated himself in his thoughts again, in Ptolemy’s guise to further aggravate him.

Damn it all.

Nathaniel was sure that if it were Bartimaeus in the pentacle, he would’ve scoffed. Instead, there was amused bemusement in Shubit’s beady eyes. The grizzly bear tilted its head, as if in consideration.

Suddenly flames erupted from around Nathaniel, fighting the pentacle’s limits and once again making his body feel impossibly rigid. He breathed through it as best he could. Beads of sweat accumulated on his forehead, his mind wanting to shut down. But Nathaniel didn’t look away, even as his eyes burned and dried quickly. Nathaniel was on a mission and he would see this through.

As abruptly as it had begun, the flames receded and disappeared.

“I hated Jessica Whitwell,” Shubit confessed coolly, as if he hadn’t just tried to attack Nathaniel.

Nathaniel blinked rapidly to rehydrate his eyes. A few tears fell. He stayed quiet this time, hoping Shubit would feel invited to elaborate.

“She was too cunning for me to fool, and she was strict. Never failed to punish us when something didn’t go according to her instructions. So I didn’t attack to protect her, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”

“It wasn’t.” He paused to allow Shubit to continue. When he didn’t, Nathaniel added, “I think you attacked the hybrids because you disagree with their ideals.”

A pause. “And what if I did?”

“Like I said,” Nathaniel grinned, “I have a proposition for you.”

* * *

_Piper_

“Thanks very much, Mr Griffiths,” Piper told the Second Secretary of the Foreign Office, whose balding head was barely visible between towers of books and paperwork.

“Much obliged, Madam Prime Minister. Good luck on your trip.”

Piper closed the door behind her. Ezekiel, who had been stationed outside the office in the guise of a teenage husky, perked up when she saw Piper, wagging her tail and letting out a friendly bark. Piper told herself it was all pretence and kept walking.

With that last meeting out of the way, Piper had one last task to accomplish before flying to Boston: packing a bag. Before coming to the Foreign Office, Piper had finally managed to align her schedule with Commander Adgate’s for a meeting regarding the wolf sightings. There had been another sighting, this time in Stratford, nearly 25 kilometres from where it had last made an appearance. Unfortunately, the commander seemed to know as much about it as Piper, and she wasn’t inclined to share her theories with anyone for the moment, not after the meeting with the Home Secretary, the Minister for Security, and the Head of Internal Affairs had been so unproductive.

Piper pushed the thought out of her mind and jogged down the stairs of the office, Ezekiel’s tiny claws drumming against the stone behind her as she playfully hopped from stair to stair. Piper didn’t have the heart to reprimand her after what had happened with the hybrid.

As they approached the door, the construction noise got louder, as did the usual cacophony that accompanied rush hour. Piper reminded herself that the car was a five-minute walk away and that construction noise was a good thing. It meant they were getting closer to rebuilding the city she loved.

She nodded to the security guards as they saluted her, something which she still was not used to. And then, in spite of the doorway’s wide arch, she collided with someone on her way out. A hand shot out to yank on her wrist so she didn’t fall, and Piper yelped.

“Goodness, that was—” The words died in her throat as she looked up.

“Hi!” said her saviour-slash-culprit cheerfully. “Fancy meeting you here of all places.” When Piper did nothing but openly stare, he added, “Huh, maybe you don’t remember me?”

“Of course I remember you,” she snapped. That only garnered more looks from passers-by, so Piper lowered her voice to add, “How could I forget the server who ruined my dress?”

“I guess that’s fair,” Romeo said with an amused grin, pulling her outside to let other people enter and exit the building.

That earned him a growl from Ezekiel. Piper’s bodyguards, stationed outside by the stairs, made to rush over, but Piper lifted her hand to stop them. Instead of being frightened, the idiot crouched down to stare at Ezekiel in pure wonder. That was when Piper noticed Romeo was carrying a guitar case on his back.

“Woah, did your dog just _grow_ _bigger_? Fascinating! Can I touch him?”

Ezekiel leaned back from the intense stare, giving Piper a look that clearly communicated she wasn’t equipped to deal with this. Earlier that day Piper had told her not to talk in public not to distress the commoners they passed on the street, even though Piper didn’t think anyone would believe the Prime Minister had recently adopted a dog. Piper was tempted to take back that order so Ezekiel could tell Romeo herself that she didn’t appreciate being talked to as if she were a real dog.

“Her. Ezekiel is a she.”

“Is she now?” he asked, extending a hand forward. When Ezekiel didn’t bite it off, he used it to pet her head. “Who’s a good girl? Yeah, who’s a good girl? You are!” he cooed.

“She’s not—”

But Ezekiel was leaning into the touch and wagging her tail, and Piper had never been so confused in her life. The possibility that someone had swapped her djinni for a real dog when she’d been in a meeting with the Second Secretary didn’t seem that farfetched. All that was missing was Ezekiel rolling over for a belly rub.

“My family’s always had a lot of animals, so I’m good with them,” he offered by way of explanation, now rubbing behind Ezekiel’s ears. “I have a dog back home that’s so big. She’s as big as a wolf, I swear. But she’s also the dopiest dog ever.”

“Ezekiel’s not—”

“I know she isn’t,” Romeo said, glancing up at Piper with a smile. “But… I don’t know, maybe spirits aren’t all that different from animals, or from us. They just respond to what they get. And we all crave attention and feeling like we matter, don’t we?”

Piper was opening her mouth to refute everything—tell him he was a commoner and knew nothing of the dangers that magicians faced every day in dealing with these ferocious creatures. It was a knee-jerk reaction by this point.

But there was Ezekiel, enjoying the attention and not doing anything to contradict Romeo’s bold statement. And while Piper couldn’t imagine Bartimaeus or even her other djinni, Amare, behaving the same way, this was overwhelming proof of what her master had told her years ago about spirits being emotional beings.

More and more people lingered to stare at them, and Piper understood why. It was quite the adorable picture. Cutting it off now would only make her look heartless. She put a Bulb of Silence around them just in case and decided to switch topics.

“Are you here to get a document legalised?”

“That’s right. You’re good.” Romeo shot her a charming smile, and Piper felt the corners of her lips twitch upwards in return.

 _Anybody could have guessed that_ , she told herself sternly. _He’s just flirting with you._ Then, as an afterthought, she added, _And stop bloody ogling him._

Unaware of Piper’s mental battles, Romeo continued cooing and petting a very happy Ezekiel, capturing the interest of many. “And you?” he asked without looking up.

“Official business, I’m afraid.”

Romeo nodded. “Must be hard,” he said seriously, glancing up to see her reaction.

“It is,” Piper said, surprising herself with her honesty.

Romeo nodded again. Then he gave Ezekiel one last rub, booped her nose, and straightened. “Well, if you ever feel like venting about it, I’m always free for coffee.” And there was the charming smile again.

Piper cleared her throat, sure she was blushing and making a fool of herself. She was the Prime Minister, for crying out loud! And this was someone she’d met _once_ , when he’d dropped a tray full of champagne on her.

“You can just say no, you know,” Romeo said after the silence had stretched for too long, still grinning like he couldn’t feel this blob of awkwardness closing in on them.

Piper swallowed down the lump in her throat. Her face was radiating heat. “Thank you. I really have to go now. Ezekiel.” The djinni was back at her side in an instant, but did Piper detect a hint of amusement in her features? Surely not. Ezekiel wasn’t usually _cheeky_.

“Nice meeting you, cutie,” he told Ezekiel, whose tail immediately started wagging again. “And very nice to bump into you again,” Romeo said, stretching out a hand. Assuming he wanted to shake hands, Piper grasped it. Romeo brought it to his lips and kissed his own thumb instead, eyes twinkling with amused mischief.

Piper rolled her eyes, but she was smiling right back. “Goodbye, Romeo.” She hoped her tone conveyed enough sarcasm.

“See you later,” he called after her, without missing a beat.

Piper pretended she hadn’t heard him and climbed down the stairs, tailed by Ezekiel and her two security guards, with such resolve not to turn back that she forgot to remove the Bulb of Silence until one of the guards tapped her on the shoulder and told her.

* * *

_Bartimaeus_

I set the last of Kitty’s boxes in her new room with a deep grunt and then plopped on the fluffy carpet right by her bed.

“Quit the theatrics, will you?” came Kitty’s voice from inside another box by the window. The more she moved, the more she tugged on the curtain—a disaster waiting to happen.

“Excuse me, I carried all of these for you,” I said, encompassing with a one-armed gesture the contents of her room, which was unnecessarily big and had too much closet space for Kitty’s belongings.

Kitty’s head remained buried within one of the many boxes I’d carried all the way to the third floor. “Bartimaeus, you carried the grand total of three boxes.”

“Three very _heavy_ boxes,” I reminded her.

Kitty sighed. “This can’t be the same Bartimaeus who rubbed shoulders with Solomon.”

I ignored her in favour of rolling over and opening the new box I’d brought up, finding a bunch of clothes thrown in there. And I meant _thrown._ Nothing was folded, and there were actual _balls_ of clothing trapped between _other_ balls of clothing. I immediately closed the box and kicked it away from me.

“You are a sick person.”

“And you sound like Nathaniel.” She emerged from the box with her hair tousled. “Maybe sharing a mind did more harm than we first thought.”

“I keep _telling_ you.”

“Also, why are you in that guise again?” She motioned with her chin towards my fine figure. “I thought you’d only dressed up for Nathaniel’s birthday dinner because you were forced.”

“Like you could make me,” I retorted. “ _This_ is for the neighbours. Nobody would believe a frail-looking Egyptian boy in a loincloth could be carrying all of those boxes.”

Kitty frowned at me. “We’re in a magician area, you loon.” And then, before I could further defend my position by saying that most of them were dead, she rudely cut me off by adding, “Now go check on Nathaniel, will you? I haven’t seen him since I got here, and it’s too quiet for my liking.”

Giving the box of terror one last wary look, I turned and went.

Kitty’s new bedroom was located on the third floor, right in front of Piper’s bedroom, on the west wing of the house, which was on the opposite side of Nathaniel’s room and library. If this information made you wonder why they wouldn’t take a room on the east wing as well, it’s because there’s none. Nathaniel’s library is so ridiculously huge that his room and private bathroom take up the remaining available space. (1)

(1) _But who has the time to clean all that?_ you ask. Three guesses who. If you guessed me, then you’re wrong. It’s _obviously_ the foliots. Although I suppose I did have to dust his books when I was so weak I could barely hold my essence together.

Thoughts of dust and books only made me feel queasy these days, so I put them aside as I walked through the corridor, whistling as I went.

Nathaniel had become increasingly annoying in the past two weeks, if you’d believe that. There should be a limit to someone’s capacity to annoy, but there he was, breaking away from societal norms as usual. Riling him up was one thing—meaning that it usually resulted in a fun time for me—but this was something else. Although I supposed self-defence training helped greatly. Wiping the floor with magicians is such a relaxing hobby.

Still, I didn’t know what he’d expected would happen, but helping him with this long-shot suicide mission was something I’d never do.

When I reached the door to the library, the first thing I noticed was how hot the doorknob was. And then I didn’t notice much else, because in the next moment I was slamming the door open and entering a room hazy with incense and smoke. Cursing my luck and feeling faint with how hard my essence was spinning, I immediately followed the stench to its most intense point.

Nathaniel was breathing heavily and leaning against the leg of a large chair, sitting in the middle of a vast, elaborate pentacle, utterly drenched in sweat. Checking that the other circle was empty and that I couldn’t feel another presence in the room, I crossed the lines and knelt on one knee beside him, rebuttal ready on my lips.

Nathaniel’s eyes fluttered open and he sighed. His mouth opened, but a cough overcame him before he could speak, because of course it did.

I considered him for a moment. “You keep finding the oddest places to rest.”

Nathaniel barely managed to crinkle his face enough to make a half-decent frown.

Clicking my tongue at his state, I gathered this colossal bastard in my arms and lifted him off the floor. Nathaniel’s head fell on my shoulder almost immediately, and I felt his hand feebly grasp my shirt, so he could find purchase to get himself upright. I told him to stop being stupid and he desisted. _I_ tucked him upright so he could breathe better, because _I_ hadn’t been a gigantic idiot and summoned a spirit in his state.

Yes, this was nightmare fuel, in that it reminded me of that blasted Sunday when my fake nose had betrayed me just because Nathaniel had washed his hair. But now there was no risk. He reeked of incense and smoke—hair included. No sir, I would not fall for that again.

Once I had covered the basics (2), Nathaniel’s mouth started producing some word vomit consisting of incoherent justifications that bore no real weight. I blinked lazily as he spoke, and that only seemed to rile him up further.

(2) I.e., opening every window in the library, getting him to the sofa, fetching some water, checking—after some resistance—that the wound on his side didn’t look much worse, and persuading myself with much difficulty that nailing Nathaniel the Nincompoop to a bookshelf would only result in more troubles for me.

“…I had to,” he was saying after two glasses of water and many deep breaths. “I told you I couldn’t bear to sit still and do _nothing_ while Piper—You’ve seen how stressed she is. And Kitty’s not doing much better. Plus, I keep being treated like a china doll, which I don’t appreciate—Are you listening to me? I told you my plan. You didn’t want to help!”

“Are you done?” I drawled, crouching down beside the sofa with my chin on the back of my hands.

Nathaniel had turned his body a little to the side to better face me and was now panting a little from the effort. Pathetic.

“I’m not. I don’t understand why you won’t help me.” He let his head fall into the pillow with a huff.

“I don’t owe you anything, Nathaniel.” Maybe it was the serious tone, maybe it was the use of his birth name. Didn’t matter—he shut his mouth immediately. “Are we done with this subject now?”

“Yes, fine,” he muttered bitterly. “It doesn’t matter now. I got help.”

That, unfortunately, piqued my interest. “You did?”

“Yes.” He gave me the side-eye.

I couldn’t believe the audacity of this sad sack of shit. He was going to make me work for it! But no, two could play at this game. I simply quirked an eyebrow in response, which he promptly mirrored. I got the other up there, and so did he.

“I can do this all day,” I informed him, lifting my eyebrows further.

“So can I.” And his eyebrows hopped a notch.

Now, I will admit, we looked like two proper loons doing that, and soon the need to laugh became almost unbearable, but he would crack first, I knew he would.

“I can’t believe this is the _only_ thing physio’s been good for. We’ll get some weights up there. If there’s ever an eyebrow-lifting contest, Nat, I’m sure—”

He cracked first. I soon followed, and our eyebrows got some peace at last.

I found I preferred him like this. Ironic, when I’d spent so long wishing I could bring nothing but misery to his life. On a good day, Nathaniel was what you’d call a walking oxymoron (3): pathetically lonely and doggedly determined. You never knew which side you’d get next.

(3) Yes, and also just a moron. It had to be said.

“I summoned an afrit.”

The laughter died in my fake throat. “Sorry, I must’ve misheard.”

“You didn’t.” He looked unsure now. “I summoned Shubit. He used to work for Whitwell.”

“Did he now?”

I remembered Shubit. He’d fetched me from the museum’s debris after I’d dealt with the golem like I was nothing but a pile of rubbish he’d had to take out. I hadn’t seen much of him after that, but every time I caught a glimpse he was sucking up to Whitwell.

“I offered him a deal, didn’t bind him to follow my orders.”

My mind screeched to a halt. “You didn’t—”

“He agreed to it, told me he didn’t side with the hybrids, that their ideals were ridiculous.”

“Now wait a minute—”

“I offered to strike his name from the records, so he’d never get summoned again, and he said he’d help me with the pentacle and with locating the other hybrids. It’s all settled.”

It’s all settled, he said. _All settled_. Somehow, my mind conjured an image of Farquarl laughing his multiple rears off at my predicament. Oh, he would have had a grand old time rubbing this in my face for the next few centuries. After blasting me through a few walls, that was.

 _So you sided with humans for this, Bartimaeus_ , he would say in that patronising tone of his, probably sharpening one of his many knives in the process. _You sided with this human so he could go and offer freedom to another._

I had just carried Nathaniel from the middle of the pentacle, tended to him like a paid nurse and this was the thanks I got. It was irrelevant that Kitty had offered me freedom as well; I felt as stuck here as if she’d bound me to do her bidding.

Because I’d gone and got attached to someone who wasn’t Ptolemy, couldn’t be Ptolemy and would never be Ptolemy.

“You know what?” I finally said. There was a painfully obvious bitter undertone to my voice. “You’re an asshole.”

Nathaniel sputtered, and it was almost comical, the way his eyes bulged and his mouth gaped. But I didn’t stay there to watch. I went back to Kitty’s room to drop this human-sized headache on her lap, my mood barely lifted by the fact that she’d taken care of the box with the offensive clothing.

Frowning, she said, “You look like you could punch a wall. What happened?”

“He’s an asshole,” I informed her, and left.

* * *

_Kitty_

“You’re an asshole,” Kitty echoed a half hour later, after she’d found Nathaniel still stretched on the sofa, looking the most disgruntled that she’d ever seen him—and she’d seen him in quite a few bad situations—and he’d told her what had happened. “A smelly one.”

“Cheers,” Nathaniel grumbled, self-consciously picking at his sweaty shirt.

“I’m serious. Can’t you see this from his perspective at all?”

Annoyed, Nathaniel struggled to get to a sitting position. He grimaced like he’d sucked on a lemon the entire time. “Look, he told me he didn’t want to help me with… something, so I found help elsewhere. I thought he’d be relieved!”

“Not that, you dumbass.” Goodness, why were magicians so socially inept? Well, she knew why, but it didn’t ease her frustration in the slightest. “You summoned another spirit—”

“So? I did that all the time before. Usually he seemed glad at the prospect of having to work less.”

Kitty glared at him. “If you’d let me _finish._ I was doing fine organising my things, if you’d rather I went.” Nathaniel threw his hands in the air and settled back on the sofa with his arms crossed. Already defensive. “You summoned another spirit—Shubit, is it?—and you offered him much better terms than you ever did Bartimaeus. How would you feel if you’d worked your ass off and someone that just entered your department at the ministry got the promotion?”

It took several seconds and one very strong prompting gaze from Kitty, but eventually Nathaniel conceded: “Peeved.”

“There you go. Now add to it that you’ve never been paid for your job, you’re tired and in pain all the time, you get constantly punished for the smallest things, and it’s been 5,000 years.” She ticked off her fingers as she spoke. “Then maybe you’ll get a teeny tiny glimpse of what it is like to walk in his shoes.”

Looking subdued, Nathaniel let his arms fall to his lap. “I know it’s been hard for him.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but decided against it. “I thought—” Kitty was surprised to see Nathaniel blush. “I thought that by doing this I’d be helping him too. I thought he’d take it as a gesture meant for him as well.”

Kitty’s eyes softened at his admission. These two bloody idiots.

“Did you tell him that?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“…No.”

Idiots, the pair. Utter tossers.

* * *

Her conversation with Nathaniel followed her throughout the day.

Kitty wondered if what she’d said would ultimately prompt Nathaniel to do the right thing or if her words would fall on deaf ears. She didn’t think she was telling Nathaniel something he didn’t already know; after all, they’d talked about it before, and he was showing some interest in changing his attitude. But she supposed she couldn’t expect him to change overnight after all of those prejudices.

To be perfectly honest, she wasn’t sure she didn’t have some of her own. Bartimaeus was simply great at making her forget that she was interacting with a whole different species sometimes. Especially now that he was using less paranormal guises and generally mellowing out his choices for Nathaniel’s sake (like she wouldn’t notice).

Kitty looked down at the bump underneath her jumper, the Amulet of Samarkand dimly glowing through the fibres. All this time she’d been carrying it around, but only now had thoughts of the identity within popped into her mind. How did one go about freeing a spirit from an artefact? Was it even possible without completely destroying the amulet? And if so, just how much damage would it take to do so, and would the spirit inside be hurt if there was too much damage? Would the council even allow something like that?

Kitty touched the gem, warm and pulsing still. By now she’d grown so used to it she barely noticed it anymore. After all, the only times she didn’t wear the Amulet were inside the house. In that moment, Kitty felt the weight of her debt towards the spirit inside, who had protected her for so long without getting nothing in return.

“Once this mess is settled, I’m going to free you,” Kitty whispered down to the Amulet. It pulsed faster, and Kitty got the impression she’d been heard.

Good.

Kitty grinned as she rinsed a set of knives, throwing her head back to get that satisfying crack.

“I did what you asked.”

Kitty jumped in surprise, letting a handful of forks plop back down into greasy water.

“Goodness—sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

Kitty shook her head as she grabbed the edge of the counter, deeply inhaling and counting to five in her head. She wondered if she’d forever be like this after the Honorius event.

To help get the images to recede, Kitty focused her attention on Melanie, who was peering up at Kitty through weary eyes. Her blonde hair looked unkempt and greasy, even though it had been pulled back in Dutch braids to try to distract from it. Her white apron was a canvas for an art student, featuring tomato seeds, strawberry and peach stains, and a few tiny rogue peels from various fruits and vegetables.

“Are you okay?” Kitty asked her.

“Fine.” Her tone implied she didn’t want to talk about it. “Anyway, like I told you: I did as you asked.”

Kitty raised an eyebrow in question, going over her shift that night and not finding a single moment where she’d asked Melanie to do something beyond passing her this or that.

Melanie came closer, looking a bit frustrated with Kitty for her reaction. She whispered, “About the man who approached me the other week.”

“Oh,” Kitty mouthed back. She had completely and embarrassingly forgot about it. She set the knives to dry and moved on to lathering the forks, keeping the water running to drown out their conversation. “Go on.”

“Dad wasn’t happy in the slightest. He started pacing and didn’t say a bloody word to me the entire weekend.” Melanie’s bottom lip quivered at the admission and she pulled her blonde hair out of her braids to hide her reddening face. Clearing her throat, she continued, “When I told mum later, she asked me who else knew. I lied. Don’t think she believed me, but doubt she suspects you.”

Kitty exhaled, relieved not to be included in the family drama. Norwood’s was an odd reaction, given that he seemed to love his family beyond anything, especially Melanie. If he wasn’t pulling at her braids whenever she messed up the heating times, he was stealing proud glances her way and bragging to his wife about her progress. It was all so sickly sweet that sometimes Kitty joined Leo and David—Melanie’s older brothers—in teasing her about it.

“And have they talked to you since?” Kitty prodded, accidentally dropping a fork back in the greasy water and cursing under her breath.

Melanie stole a cursory glance over her shoulder. Satisfied that no one was eavesdropping, she answered, “Dad told me not to tell anyone. As if I would,” she scoffed, raising her chin in defiance. “Well, except you, of course. But I figured you ought to know. I just—”

Melanie cleared her throat, once again checking around her for eavesdroppers. The brothers were entertained with cleaning the massive oven and Edward and Hannah Norwood were inside the office, probably going over the day’s numbers.

“I don’t know if I want to talk to someone else about it.” She gave Kitty an apologetic look. “I know you’re friends with the PM, and maybe my description would help, but I don’t want to put my family in a difficult position. After all, dad’s doing great in council, and this could get spun out of control in a heartbeat.”

Kitty hummed in acknowledgement. Truthfully, this was partly her fault. If she’d taken Melanie to talk to a profiler sooner, they probably wouldn’t be having this conversation. But there was no point in dwelling on that now. The situation wasn’t exactly helpless.

“Okay. Can you give me a description, though? Maybe on a piece of paper? I’ll copy it and burn the original.” When Melanie still looked doubtful, Kitty added, “And I promise not to tell anyone how I found out.”

“I suppose that’s okay,” Melanie said with a sigh. She looked a good deal more relaxed now. “I’ll write it down and hand it to you before you leave, if that’s okay?”

“Sounds great,” Kitty said, happy to get this behind her. “Chuck me a cloth, will you?”

Melanie did and then disappeared behind the door with a mop to finish cleaning the bakery for the next day. Kitty dried her hands and then the knives, forks, spoons, dishes. She still had to decide whether she wanted Piper to learn about this yet. Or worse, Nathaniel. Should she ask Bartimaeus for help? Kitty’s lips thinned at the idea, imagining that he’d tell her that was not in the job description and that he was doing enough already. Which was fair enough, but Kitty could use the help.

Before she knew it, her shift was over and Melanie was handing her a small note, which Kitty immediately shoved in her jeans’ pocket. When asked what she planned on doing with it, Kitty replied honestly that she didn’t know yet.

Then she was saying her goodbyes, not wanting to keep the spirit Piper had appointed to chaperone her that night waiting. A chorus of “Goodnight” followed her out the door, where cold wind was waiting. Kitty pulled the coat tighter around her shivering frame.

The sky was painted in different shades of grey with a few strokes of orange on the horizon, and the air was charged, taking a deep breath before exhaling a thunderstorm upon London. The humidity clung to her face like a second skin as the clouds growled in anticipation. Underneath the light of a dim lamppost, Kitty removed her scarf from the coat’s pocket and put it around her neck as she waited for Rebecca’s djinni to show up. She faced the stained, indistinguishable backs of the crammed buildings around her, wanting nothing more than to hurry home.

The sky would exhale soon.

While she waited, Kitty patted her pockets for the hundredth time to make sure she had her wallet and keys. Satisfied when she felt the lumps, Kitty resumed bouncing on the spot to keep warm.

There was a movement in the shadows.

Kitty started, told herself to calm down, that it was probably Rebecca’s djinni.

“Amare?” Kitty called.

She got no response. Deciding that she didn’t want to stay out in the cold and wait for trouble, Kitty ran back to the door.

A hand yanked on her elbow.

Kitty screamed.

Darkness.


	13. love seems to stick in her veins

_Nathaniel_

Nathaniel had been passionately digging a trail on his very expensive Persian carpet for the past hour. Under any other circumstances, he would have marvelled at the fact that he now could stand and pace for so long, but there was no brain space for that at the moment.

Kitty was missing.

A crow came fluttering in through the window and the wind whistled in uninvited. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

“Anything?”

“Nothing,” the crow replied, shaking itself dry all over the carpet. “It’s foul outside. Have you seen this rain? She’s probably huddled up in a pub, cosying up to some bloke.”

Bartimaeus’s chipper tone did nothing to convince him.

“Anything?” asked Piper as she came in through the door. Her hair was in disarray and her socks didn’t match, but Nathaniel commented on neither of these. He knew she had been on the phone with Edward Norwood and the police for the past three hours.

“Nothing,” Nathaniel and Bartimaeus chorused.

Piper cursed and ran her fingers through her hair, probably for the hundredth time. Nathaniel saw Bartimaeus open his beak to speak and knew instantly that he’d go and comment on Piper’s appearance. Without preamble, he grabbed the beak in his hand and got a quack and a glare in response.

“Master,” said a fourth voice as a bald eagle alighted on the windowsill. Nathaniel let go of Bartimaeus, who immediately stretched his limbs, sprouted a pair of twisted horns, lost the wings, and grew and grew until a minotaur was standing in place of the crow.

Shubit ignored him. Nathaniel tried to, but his poor carpet was now drenched and covered in dirt. Not to mention that it was probably the most illogical thing Bartimaeus had ever done, but now wasn’t the time for tracking the score.

“I’m afraid I found no sign of Ms Jones in the locations you’ve had me look. But I asked a few imps on patrol tonight and they said there’d been a scuffle outside the bakery and that Ms Jones was taken by a hybrid. All imps reported they were unable to follow them after that. They also found the djinni Amare unconscious inside a garbage bin. She’s recovered and is currently outside looking for Ms Jones.”

Shubit’s report was professional and formal, with no emotion to it, and Nathaniel found that it helped soothe his brain into an action mindset. They had the data, now it was a matter of putting the pieces together and narrowing down the places the hybrid could have taken her.

“Thank you, Shubit,” Nathaniel said at last. “Please, come in. You must be exhausted.”

“Much obliged,” Shubit replied, bowing his head slightly before floating inside the study.

Bartimaeus’s indignantly grumbled and sat down cross-legged on the carpet. Shubit again paid him no mind. Nathaniel didn’t have the time to deal with this or with what had happened that afternoon. To be honest, he also didn’t have the energy—he was hanging by a thread, fuelled solely by adrenaline and an overall sense of dread.

“What do you think?” Nathaniel asked Piper.

“I think I should’ve locked that girl up in this house,” Piper replied hotly. Then she sighed, and with the rage properly purged from her system, she added, “I think that the orbs and our spirits haven’t spotted any more signs of struggle in the area near the bakery. So Kitty could have escaped and is now hiding somewhere until she thinks it’s safe to come back, or…”

Or she could have been killed already. No, Nathaniel had decided not to consider that yet. Nathaniel refused to think they’d find Kitty any way but alive. She had the Amulet, and he knew she always carried silver on her. Plus, she was incredibly resourceful.

“I’ll grab a map and we’ll cross-reference the intel we received so far from surveillance. Shubit, would you please come with me?”

“Certainly.”

“And I’ll get a search team to start looking. Let me know when you have that map ready.”

Nathaniel nodded. Bartimaeus cut off their brainstorming session by saying, “And what about me?”

“Oh, whatever you like,” said Nathaniel, disliking the way Bartimaeus’s eyes were pinned on him.

It was clearly the wrong thing to say. Nathaniel had meant to say that Bartimaeus could either join either him or Piper, or even go back to searching for Kitty, but that was clearly not what Bartimaeus had understood. Why was it so difficult to communicate with him? No, he didn’t have time for this. Kitty was _missing._ They needed to pull themselves together and find her.

So he cleared his throat and amended himself. “We’ll soon have more information, so we’ll see then.”

“Brilliant.”

* * *

_Kitty_

There was a dull throb in the back of her head. There was blood in her mouth.

Those were the first things Kitty registered when she came to, vision blurry, hearing muffled. The next was cold, and then the rain pelting her face. Kitty groaned, turned on her side, and spat out the blood, barely distinguishing the spot on the gravel in the darkness as her throat burned with a vengeance.

A flash of lightning coloured the blood for her for just a second. Thunder rolled right after, like a gigantic set of drums making the world shake. It was right above her. She should move. She had to get up and move.

Kitty lay there, beyond exhausted and hurting, trying to piece together her last memories. She knew she’d left Norwood’s bakery, and she’d waited outside for Amare. But after that—

“I’m sorry,” said a childish voice.

The adrenaline hit her so fast, Kitty scrambled to her feet in record time, only to nearly faceplant afterwards. Two large, clawed hands grabbed her shoulders and helped her sit down.

“Um, don’t do that. I hit you a bit hard.”

“Yeah? I’ll hit you harder.” 

The creature giggled nervously, and Kitty felt her bravado dissolve between them. The hybrid was shrouded in darkness like she remembered, but then lighting hit again, and from this distance she could make out the outline of thorns running up the lean arms, the green glint of scales, a tail. How had she not noticed a _tail_ before?

Head swimming, Kitty tried to discreetly get the dagger in her boot without giving away her intentions, but the hybrid had been expecting that. Without much ceremony, it grabbed Kitty’s wrists with one hand and pulled her up until her feet were dangling in the air. Summoning her strength, Kitty screamed as loudly as her lungs allowed, ferociously trashing and snapping her teeth. Her throat had to be bleeding after her efforts.

The hybrid flinched and nearly dropped her. “I’ve put a Bulb of Silence around us,” it informed her in its childish voice. “Had to, because I thought you’d scream.”

Kitty wanted to point out that that was hardly her fault and what kind of an idiot did such a blotchy job? But then she noticed they were on top of a tall building and her legs were dangling over nothing. The streetlamp below looked as tiny as a firefly. Kitty wasn’t afraid of heights, but the air was nonetheless punched right out of her by the sight.

Fuck’s sake.

She fought not to let her panic show as her mind raced, trying to come up with a solution. The Amulet was useless if the hybrid didn’t use magic and she couldn’t reach her dagger. Her best bet was to keep it talking so Piper’s djinni would find her or one of the surveillance orbs still roaming London would notice them. But what then?

“I just want to talk.”

“I can tell,” she growled, now wary of throwing her weight around.

The creature’s shoulders slumped, like Kitty’s tone had hurt it. Which was absolutely ridiculous and one hundred percent a manipulation technique.

“I think we can help each other,” the hybrid said in a small voice. “I thought you’d be easier to talk to, but maybe I should’ve chosen John Mandrake instead.”

“What the hell are you even talking about?” Kitty snapped, the name-drop igniting another wave of fear and aggression within her, further contributing to her headache. It was pulsing and expanding from the back of her head to her brow. God, everything _hurt._

“I have information that can be useful to you and your government.”

That made her shut her mouth, which seemed to please the hybrid. “Does that interest you? Good. I’ll put you down now, but please don’t try to run because that’s a six-storey fall.”

Kitty grunted in response and the hybrid set her down gently in the middle of the rooftop. Feeling her wet jeans press against her rear was about as pleasant as a council meeting and Kitty grumbled at the sensation as she rubbed her sore wrists. True to her reputation, Kitty kept on her glare at all times, unwilling to give an inch. The hybrid remained hunched over her like an overzealous parent, arms comically stretched out. It made small hesitant noises like it wanted to apologise again, but Kitty wasn’t having any of it.

“What’s your name?”

The hybrid finally stilled. “Oh, uh, yes. Adamastor is what they call me.”

Kitty supposed now wasn’t the time to start thinking of how odd every spirit name sounded to her ears. She’d die laughing if one day she came across a spirit named Bob. But that was neither here nor there. Maybe she was concussed; it would explain why she couldn’t seem to focus for long.

She let the pause stretch between them, even though she wanted nothing more than to throw question after question at Adamastor. But Kitty hadn’t practiced patience for three years to let it all go to waste. No, she would draw it all out of the hybrid, whatever means necessary.

Besides, she was already drenched, so what was a little more rain? Later—if all went well—she could just ask Bartimaeus to grab her and wring her.

 _Focus,_ Kathleen.

“So, um, should I explain why I came to you?”

Kitty shrugged, which seemed to unnerve Adamastor further. Good.

“Right, yes.” A long hand scratched a long neck before the other hand came to snap the former back down. Kitty watched all of that unfold with a blank expression. “I was called like the other hybrids, but I wasn’t in on the plan. Asmodeus… I think you’ve met him.”

Kitty snorted. “Sure have.”

“Right. He’s, uh, he’s a little intense.”

“Interesting choice of words,” Kitty drawled, channelling calm and sarcastic Bartimaeus, who she thought would be doing brilliantly under these circumstances. “What about him?”

“Asmodeus gave my name. I didn’t want to come. Resisted twice, thought I’d get punished for disobeying a third, so I came.” Adamastor seemed to shrink further inwards the deeper the story got. “And then… well. I didn’t know what was happening. I just followed Nouda’s commands. Well, not Nouda’s. There was this other spirit giving all the ideas.

“Anyway, I fled as soon as I could, and now I keep having to hide because I keep being chased.” Adamastor frowned, or so it seemed to Kitty. “But I saw you. You and John Mandrake. He had a spirit inside him too, they were saying. But the spirit hadn’t destroyed him. I thought that was ridiculous until I saw him— _them_ —go against my brothers and sisters. And then against Nouda.”

Here Adamastor paused, body language tense with indecision. Kitty noticed its hands trembling a little as Adamastor tried to keep them from scratching at its body. Did that mean that the physical protection from the pain Earth caused was gone?

Kitty waited. Every drop of rain that hit her went straight to her patience recipient. She pictured this recipient, made of clear glass and not too large to begin with, as it filled and filled until it overfilled. She pictured it cracking and trembling as it tried to contain all this water that wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place. Soon it would unleash the biggest flood the whole damn world had ever seen.

“Are the rumours true?” Adamastor’s voice promptly erased pictures of floods from Kitty’s mind. “Did John Mandrake release the spirit before he faced Nouda? Did _you_ travel to the Other Place?”

It was the second time he’d mentioned Nathaniel, and Kitty was suspicious, but she also knew the news of his survival was everywhere, not to mention the news of her trip. It was suspicious that this hybrid knew Nathaniel had dismissed Bartimaeus, however. She wasn’t sure how much that bit was spreading.

So she opted for, “It’s partially true.”

Adamastor gasped. “Astounding.” There were no further questions about it. After a pause, the hybrid said, “I’m going to give you the location of a meeting. A Commoner’s Alliance secret meeting in Chiswick, in a pub called _Rotten Bones_.”

“So I can’t properly track it? Brilliant.”

“No, this is a gesture of good faith. You go there and see that I’m telling the truth, and then we can help each other. And the pub will be closing early for the meeting, you’ll see. That bit you can track.”

Kitty shrugged. “Ambush.”

“Trust,” retorted Adamastor immediately. It reeked of desperation. “I need you to trust me.”

“Maybe you’re hoping I bring Mandrake.”

“That’s not in character for you,” Adamastor said, and that was probably the creepiest thing he’d said all evening, because now Kitty knew she hadn’t been paranoid whenever she’d felt she was being watched.

Kitty shook herself out of it and considered him for another moment. “And after that?”

“Do you think—” Adamastor looked around nervously, and Kitty followed the movements, feeling uneasy as well. Not that she could see anything with all the rain and the darkness. Bollocks, she was probably going to get a cold. A cold and a concussion. _Brilliant._

Adamastor leaned closer. Kitty leaned back. “Do you think he could help me get back?” the hybrid finished in a whisper.

To say she was surprised would be an understatement. Adamastor had already established it—they?—hadn’t volunteered for the cause, but Kitty had yet to meet a hybrid that wanted to go back. Although that probably wasn’t a valid statement, seeing as every hybrid she’d met had either died right after or fled.

Kitty swallowed thickly as she tried to see Adamastor’s facial expression, gleaning nothing from it. “Depends on the information you’re offering.”

Lying had been part of her life since she could remember, and in the past lying to a demon would have been her first impulse, one she’d obey without question or a trace of guilt. But after spying snippets of their lives from Bartimaeus’s point of view, guilt weighed heavily on her shoulders.

Especially because the hybrid went ahead and said, “Thank you. You’re very kind. My judgement was right after all.”

Kitty bit the inside of her cheek and said nothing.

* * *

_Piper_

“Do I sound like I give a flying fuck about protocol? I’m the Prime Minister of this godforsaken country, so you’ll do as I say and assemble a bloody team to go looking for Kathleen Jones and decimate that hybrid so hard any chance of reincarnation is forever lost, or so help me—”

A door slammed shut.

“Stand by,” Piper said, glaring at her golden crystal ball and leaving it on the table.

Piper exited Nathaniel’s dining room, which she’d been using to make calls and send out imps with messages, and briskly walked along the second floor’s corridor until she reached the stairs. There she stopped.

The entrance door to Nathaniel’s house opened into a wide carpeted space, tall as the house itself. The stairs snaked across the floors on each wing, a large, ornamented balustrade connecting them on each floor. Piper stood there, frozen to the spot. Below her, on the first floor, was an utterly drenched Kitty Jones, shivering, grumbling, with murder in her eyes. Her jeans were caked with the mud of a small swamp.

Now, Piper usually wasn’t one for swearing, present evening notwithstanding. If there was a monthly quota to fill, Piper had gone well over the limits in one single night. So it truly wouldn’t matter if what came out of her mouth went over this hypothetical monthly quota. No, she would lose with style, she would.

So Piper said the only thing that came to mind: “What the _ever-loving_ _fuck,_ Jones?”

Kitty looked up. “Tell me about it.”

* * *

It took them all a while to settle after that. Piper had a million calls to make, not to mention a bag to pack. Kitty needed to shower and get changed, plus she should probably lie down since she refused to go to the hospital, going as far as saying that she’d kick all of their asses into the moon if they didn’t stop making her headache worse. Which made the hospital sound like an even better idea, but Piper knew how to pick her battles.

While all of this excitement played, Bartimaeus announced he was going to take a nap for the next hundred years but ended up making them all tea after Kitty complained once about her throat. Nathaniel put away the maps and asked Shubit to please go out and get Amare and the rest of the spirits once he felt comfortable the weather wasn’t too damaging to his essence. Shubit had left almost immediately. Piper’s brain was still knotted over this episode, and Romeo popped in there to cheekily taunt her with his profound words from earlier that day.

So now they were all sitting at the kitchen table, and Piper couldn’t help the flashbacks to the day Nathaniel had been discharged from the hospital, even though they’d had many happy and fun moments in this kitchen as well. But now it was hard to reminisce about those when Kitty had just dropped a bomb in her lap. The Commoners’ Alliance hadn’t been extinguished, and they’d been operating right under their noses this entire time.

“So,” Kitty drawled, eyeing each of them meaningfully. She looked comfortable in an oversized baby pink jumper, and Piper wished she’d thought to change out of her tight suit, because she could use the extra space to breathe. Her stomach was so full of knots, she couldn’t even eat the toast in front of her. “Any questions?”

Nathaniel and Bartimaeus seemed to still be digesting it; they kept giving each other fleeting, conspiratorial looks that Piper couldn’t decipher. Kitty took a sip of her chamomile tea while she waited.

So Piper spoke first. “You’re not seriously considering going, are you?”

Kitty wrinkled her nose. “I don’t see that I have much of a choice, do I? Besides this being extremely important information, it could lead to a great alliance if we play our cards right.”

“Kitty, this is clearly an ambush orchestrated by a manipulative hybrid. This is a typical trick that demons play—”

“So now I can’t see through manipulation, is that it? I’m sorry, who was it that saw right through the government’s bullshit when she was thirteen, huh?”

Piper frowned. “No need to get so defensive.”

“I was _just_ attacked and kidnapped, so excuse me if I’m a bit on edge. I’m not in the mood for condescension.”

Kitty’s words hung in the air. Everyone but Bartimaeus drank their teas sour-faced, like they wished the tea had been generously spiked. Piper hadn’t meant to be condescending, but Kitty _was_ inexperienced. Just because she’d got lucky with Bartimaeus, it didn’t mean other spirits wouldn’t take advantage of her whenever they pleased, much less a hybrid.

“Very well, I’m coming with you,” Bartimaeus announced, surprising them all.

“You are?” Kitty sounded beyond relieved.

“No, you aren’t,” Nathaniel blurted out, and the level of incredulity in the room rose further. “I mean,” he cleared his throat, “I agree with Piper that it’s dangerous for Kitty to go, even if Bartimaeus goes with her.”

Bartimaeus looked at him and Piper felt an odd tension between them akin to the one she’d noticed at the hospital right after Nathaniel had woken up. “Don’t worry, Nat,” he said coldly, “I’m sure Shubit will learn how to cook for you.”

Nathaniel looked stricken.

Piper did _not_ have the time for this. “Returning to the _point,_ ” she gave the duo a warning glare, “it’s dangerous and reckless, and I know I don’t stand on any moral ground right now, but I don’t understand why we can’t send a professional team to scope it out.”

“Because then I’m breaking Adamastor’s trust and we do need it if we want more information.”

“It’s a stakeout mission,” Bartimaeus chimed in. “We do not engage. We go in, watch, and come out without being noticed. At the slightest sign of trouble, I grab this one and we go.” He amicably punched Kitty on the shoulder. She grinned at him weakly in response.

Piper wanted to smack the both of them. “That’s all fine and dandy, but what happens when we can’t help Adamastor with what he wants?”

That earned her some silence from the other occupants of the kitchen. Bartimaeus went back to giving Nathaniel weird looks and Piper was about to tell them to just share it with the rest of the class when Kitty spoke again.

“We don’t have to actually do it. We just have to try. That’s all I promised to do.”

“Very wise to make those kinds of promises.”

“I don’t see you coming up with a better idea,” Kitty snapped, jumping to her feet and then wobbling a bit on her feet. All three of them moved to catch her if need be, but she straightened and gave them a warning glare. It stayed trained on Piper the longest. “You’re going off to Boston, a huge risk considering you’re taking such a small security unit, but you won’t let me and Bartimaeus handle a bunch of _commoners_?”

Piper pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep, calming breath. “We’re getting off topic. You want to go? Fine.” Piper slapped the table, making Nathaniel flinch. “Bloody fantastic. _When_ is this meeting?”

“Saturday at midnight,” Kitty grumbled, sitting back down.

 _Of course it is_ , Piper thought bitterly. _This is what happens when we waive the bloody curfew._

“That’s right after I leave.” Piper sighed. “I’ll prepare a crystal ball for you to contact me, but I’m not sure it’ll reach.”

“I thought you were using crystal balls to communicate with North America?”

“They’re more advanced,” Nathaniel finally joined in. His face was drawn and pale, his shoulders tense. But what stood out to Piper was the pure exhaustion rolling off him in waves. It was no wonder, after having spent the day summoning an afrit and then worrying sick about Kitty. “Usually commissioned from stores like Pinn’s Accoutrements. They find the best materials and spirits for the intended purpose.”

And then, without giving anyone the chance to say anything else, he announced, “I’m coming too.”

“What?” Kitty and Bartimaeus said in unison.

“I can walk fine now. Plus, if Shubit comes with us—”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” Bartimaeus said tersely. “Two’s as good as it’s going to get. Four’s too conspicuous. Besides, an afrit’s aura is ridiculously obvious and very traceable in the first hours afterwards. What do you think will happen if they have people with resilience to magic who can _see_ through the planes?”

“Well, you’re going,” Nathaniel pointed out. “Besides, Shubit is very competent. He can cover it up.”

“Can he now?” Bartimaeus sounded more annoyed than curious. “No matter, I’m a whole lot more discreet, thank you very much.”

Nathaniel looked like he wanted to keep at it, and so did Bartimaeus. And then Kitty would probably get pulled into it, and Piper knew they’d stay there all night if this went on any further. In that heated moment, she saw no other choice.

“I have another mission for you, Nathaniel, if you’ll take it.”

That got their attention. Piper explained succinctly what Pinn had told her at the fundraiser a few weeks ago, making sure she stressed that there were no guarantees it was anything important.

“I can’t exactly put a team on it, it’s too ridiculous. But Mr Button suggested I sent you and Kitty to investigate.” She didn’t feel the need to mention that that had happened more than two weeks ago. “You don’t have to do it, Nathaniel, or you, Kitty. I’m sure it’ll turn out to be residual magic and Mr Pinn is simply too lazy to investigate himself.”

“I’ll do it,” Nathaniel said without missing a beat. These days he always sounded eager to be doing anything that wasn’t sitting still, which he didn’t get to do often. “I’ll ask Shubit to come with me. It’s probably better if we do it either late at night or very early, while there aren’t many people outside.”

“It’s London, there’s always too many people outside,” Bartimaeus grumbled.

“Not in the aftermath of the revolt,” Kitty sang. Bartimaeus rolled his eyes at her.

“So it’s all settled? Fantastic. This meeting is hereby adjourned. We will all report back in a week’s time, providing that no one present at this meeting suffers an injury or any other damage, physical or otherwise.” What had begun in a light, mocking tone had grown serious. She gave Kitty and Nathaniel a glare. “For the present, the Prime Minister has concluded that all the participants except Bartimaeus must go to bed.”

Kitty raised her mug in agreement. “Hear, hear.”

* * *

_Kitty_

By early Friday morning, things were much the same. Kitty had spent the night twisting and turning in her bed, making a mental list of what she needed to do before the stakeout. So far, her list had four items.

Number one: visit the place at least once to get a feel for the best hiding spots, or at least have Bartimaeus do it.

Number two: grab some low-tier magical artefacts just in case.

Number three: go over a plan with Bartimaeus.

Number four: decide on code words in case things went south.

Now Kitty was in the kitchen eating half-burnt toast with raspberry jam and chugging down unsweetened coffee like her life depended on it. Her head was still pounding, but the fog around her thoughts had lifted and her throat wasn’t burning as badly. And all that without going to the hospital. Kitty lifted her cup of coffee to her past self.

To be honest, however, she hadn’t been sleeping well since the first night Adamastor had ambushed her on her way home, but she hadn’t told anyone about it and didn’t plan to. Nathaniel wouldn’t be much help; he didn’t look like he was getting much sleep either. And she didn’t want to give Piper more leverage to use against her after the previous night. That left Bartimaeus, which was probably the most pointless talk of them all.

She was glaring at her coffee like it had personally offended her when the doorbell rang. Suspicious, Kitty got up to take a look, finding Bartimaeus already there. Bartimaeus glanced at the cup of coffee in her hands and snorted. Kitty rolled her eyes at him good-naturedly.

“It’s Sam,” Bartimaeus told her, sounding surprised. “Hold on, I’m going to tell the sentries to stop harassing the poor bloke.”

Kitty stayed inside and watched through the window as Bartimaeus punched the air to either side of him and shouted something with a very authoritative air about him. Then he beckoned Sam over, and together they joined Kitty inside. Sam was careful to leave his dripping umbrella outside the door and to remove his coat before coming in, getting a nod of approval from Bartimaeus.

“I hope I didn’t come in at a bad time,” he said nasally, and Kitty instantly concluded he must have a cold. His eyes were sunken, and the tip of his nose was red. But most notably of all, he had a purple eye.

“What the hell happened to you?” Bartimaeus echoed her thoughts exactly.

Sam shifted uneasily. “Oh, patient accident. They get violent sometimes. I usually manage it better, but I haven’t been sleeping much.”

God, if someone in hospital could manage to give a trained, young and healthy-looking nurse a purple eye, then Kitty didn’t want to find out what they could do fully healed. Sam could barely open his eye, and it clearly pained him to do so.

Sam turned to her, eyeing her expectantly, and repeated, “Is this a bad time?”

Kitty self-consciously pulled her robe tighter around her frame to hide her childish pyjamas. Her face burning from embarrassment and morning brain still foggy, all she could do was shake her head no. Then she cleared her throat and told him properly that no, it wasn’t a bad time.

Sam smiled gratefully at her. Now that he didn’t have his coat on and she’d managed to stop staring at his eye, Kitty noticed that Sam was carrying a suitcase and a rectangular package. He handed it over to Bartimaeus without a word, who gave it a glare so fierce Kitty thought the package would combust. There seemed to be some sort of telepathic message passing between them in that moment.

Odd. Surely if the package contained medicine or instructions for Nathaniel’s recovery there’d be no need for such secrecy? Then again, she conceded bitterly, they hadn’t let her see most of what had happened during Nathaniel’s treatments, even though she’d sat through all of them with Bartimaeus.

Kitty took a hearty sip of her coffee, its warmth melting away some of her resentment.

Which reminded her that she was being impolite. “Can I get you anything?” she asked at long last. “Coffee? Tea?”

“You didn’t have to come here for these.” Bartimaeus shook the package, and Kitty didn’t hear any bottles or ruffle of paper. “I would’ve been much faster.”

There went Kitty’s attempt at polite conversation. She sent an unamused look Bartimaeus’s way, but he wasn’t paying her any mind.

“No doubt, but I had a check-up nearby, so I thought I’d come here instead of having Mr Mandrake go all the way to the hospital. It’s mostly routine at this point,” Sam told Bartimaeus, who narrowed his eyes in response. Then Sam turned to her with a hesitant grin Kitty instantly disliked. “Tea would be lovely, thank you. Would it be alright if we spoke in private after I check on Mr Mandrake?”

* * *

A tray with cooling cinnamon tea and fig rolls Bartimaeus had complained about arranging lay untouched on the redwood table between them. Already jittery from the excess of caffeine, Kitty couldn’t stop her hands from picking at the sofa beneath her. Sam was her polar opposite, sitting very still on the armchair by the window and examining a painting in blues and greens on the wall with a blank expression.

Kitty was losing her mind.

She was about to speak when Sam finally put her out of her misery.

“I suppose you can imagine why I’m here.”

“Well,” Kitty began shakily, berating herself for ingesting so much caffeine so early in the morning, “it’s either because you need to tell me something about John or because you have news about my parents.”

Cut right to the chase, that had always been her strategy. Even if she’d fallen behind on her search these past few days, Kitty was acutely aware that her mind was in a constant floating state, as if it were waiting for something to pull her down and ground her again.

Sam nodded, and said in a measured voice, “You’re right, it is about your parents.”

This time Kitty couldn’t keep her leg from bouncing, trying to match the increasing speed of her heartbeat. “Go on, then,” she heard herself say through a thick throat.

“I did as you asked. Since you’re not back in the system yet, it took a while longer. I contacted the nearby hospitals, provided your DNA samples, and asked a few colleagues if they could speed up the process.

“As you know, every hospital is overbooked. What happened two months ago maxed out our capacity, so we built tents. As the weeks went by, we tried to slowly transfer the patients and staff to the hospitals to provide better care. Your parents were in one of those tents in Paddington until a week ago, when they were transferred to St Mary’s Hospital.”

Kitty tried to think back on whether she’d been to any tents in Paddington. She’d been to St Mary’s, but admittedly not in the last week. And her search had been kept closer to the river, where the hybrids had concentrated their attacks, and further south, closer to where they’d lived before, since she didn’t think they could afford rent in London. But did that mean they’d moved to Paddington recently? Hyde Park was _right there._ Had she truly been so close to them all this time that all she’d had to do was cross Hyde Park and check the tents there?

“And?” she prompted, when Sam had remained silent for a few minutes too long, probably to allow her to register the information.

Sam sighed and Kitty’s face scrunched up.

“Your father passed away during transport. They tried to get him cleared for transfer a week before, but no hospital in the area could take him.”

Kitty absorbed the information as if she were listening to a report about two people she didn’t know, the words registering in her mind, but not the meaning. There was a rush in her ears drowning out her surroundings, Sam’s voice nearly lost in it.

“And mum?”

She hadn’t used that word in so long that it felt foreign and childish in her mouth. She was transported back to a time when ‘mum’ had meant safe and home, when she’d needed nothing more than being in her mother’s arms for her fears to melt away. When ‘mum’ had meant invincible.

“Your mother was successfully transferred to St Mary’s, where she stayed for the past week, but…”

_But._

“There were some complications, and… I’m afraid she left us this morning. I’m truly sorry, Kitty.”

Kitty vaguely registered that he did sound sorry, that his eyes were clouded with concern and empathy for her. Her throat felt so tight. She cleared it, swallowed down the huge lump to no avail. Her body felt so rigid she wouldn’t be surprised if she couldn’t get up after this. Her stupid mind could only echo in loop, _Not invincible_.

“How did it happen?”

Sam gave her another concerned gaze, waited a bit for her to change her mind. But when Kitty didn’t take back her request, he continued. “Mrs Jones sustained severe burns during the attacks, causing not only damage to her skin, but also to her internal organs. The staff fought to keep her alive, and for a while your mother fought as well. But after your dad passed, she stopped fighting. She refused to eat, and stopped responding to the medical staff.”

_If I had been there—_

Kitty shut down the thought as quickly as it sneaked up on her. When she inhaled, her stomach trembled and her chest protested, wanting to stay as small as possible. “So she died of a broken heart?” she asked with a small, bitter laugh.

Sam moved forward in the armchair to put a reassuring hand on her bouncing knee. Kitty hadn’t noticed she’d still been doing it. She stopped and met his eyes.

“She died because she was in severe condition. Even with ideal care, there were no guarantees she’d make it.”

“But she held out for so long. Why _now_ —” She choked on a sob and then gasped, surprising herself at the emotion bleeding out in her voice.

After all, she didn’t care about her parents. They’d abandoned her years ago.

Kitty didn’t care.

Sam slid into seat beside her, grabbing a napkin from the tray and offering it to her. He put a reassuring arm around her shoulders as Kitty furiously wiped at her tears to no avail; her body seemed bent on making them. Against her better judgement and overall pride, Kitty allowed herself to be held by this friendly stranger who seemed to know just how to comfort her.

Sam’s voice droned on as he very scientifically explained why damaged bodies stopped functioning after a while, even when people intended to keep fighting. Kitty half listened to him through her sobs and her guilt and her anger.

And when Sam ran out of science and took to chanting the same mantra of, “It’s going to be alright,” Kitty almost believed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you grab your pitchforks, just know that anjumstar has already taken care of it, alright? There’s been much caps lock used for talks of this chapter, which just goes to show that Anjum is many things. She's beauty, she's grace, she will bite my head off via Gmail whenever I eff up her mood.  
> 


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